Too Easy A Shot
by volley
Summary: Something goes wrong while the senior staff are visiting a planet, and Trip is left wondering why Malcolm reacted the way he did.
1. Chapter 1

This story was inspired by something Malcolm says in another story of mine, Out Of Alignment, where he hints to an incident in the past when he took a wrong tactical decision. In her review KadziaKathryn mentioned she would have liked to know more about it… so here you go!

Grateful thanks to my beta readers, Gabi2305 and Roaring Mice.

§ 1 §

Trip leaned with one elbow on the bar counter and brought the alien drink to his lips, taking a cautious sip. It was nothing like good Earth liquor but, given its exotic colour and disturbing muddiness, he'd actually expected it to be a lot worse than it was. It tasted a bit like a sweet wine, though it was thicker, and he hoped his scanner's readings, which had pronounced it harmless for consumption, were actually to be trusted.

Glancing at Malcolm, who stood rigidly a few feet away, he couldn't help but frown. "You're off duty, Malcolm" he said deadpan.

"Really?" Malcolm muttered absently, looking as if he hadn't heard a word. His eyes busily scanned the large, covered plaza, which was swarming with people of many different species.

"I swear – the only times I've seen ya relaxed was when ya were out cold," Trip drawled, shaking his head and breaking into a grin that was lost on his distracted friend.

Malcolm didn't respond; his eyes had found what they were looking for and were riveted to that one spot.

The small planet they were on, Vegor 2, was nothing more than an inhospitable rock in a small, uninhabited system - nobody's land. It stood, however, more or less at the centre of a very busy region of space, which was why a few clever individuals of a species Trip could not recall ever having heard of had set up a profitable business on it, building and running a large trading compound that seemed to attract more ships than Rigel 10. Enterprise had wandered nearby, and the Captain had decided to check the place out. Archer had brought along his senior staff, to give them a break from routine.

The compound was, like any market place, a seemingly disorganised mess of bustling activity, and from the moment they had set foot in it Malcolm had looked as if they had stepped into a combat zone. Having recognised the well-known signs of tension in his friend, Trip had offered to buy him a drink and had dragged him to an upper-floor platform, which was lined with bars and fast food places. The platform ran along the perimeter of the central quadrilateral plaza and opened like a balcony onto it, so from their vantage point Trip and Malcolm could see what was going on below.

Trip tracked the spot that had got Malcolm's attention and sighed inwardly. The man was incredible: despite the crowd, Malcolm had managed to find Archer and T'Pol and was keeping a watchful eye on them. The Captain and Subcommander had remained on the bottom floor, with its vast shopping area and interesting variety of merchandise. So had Hoshi and Travis, who had declined Trip's invitation to join Malcolm and him on the grounds that their time was better-spent doing something less 'passive' than drinking. He, of course, had disagreed. He'd argued that experiencing a culture's drinking establishments had just as much sociological validity as 'hanging out in their shopping malls', but that had only gotten him a raised eyebrow from Hoshi. So now he was stuck up here with Malcolm.

Trip studied his friend and rolled his eyes. Even Porthos would be better company. Come to think of it, Malcolm had probably agreed to follow him only because from the elevated floor he could keep the situation under better control.

_Time to use subtler tactics_, Trip decided. "So what do you think of this?" he asked nonchalantly, trying to swirl the almost phosphorescent thick yellow liquid in the tall glass and taking another sip. He saw Malcolm cast a glance at him then finally avert his eyes from their crewmates in the distance.

Malcolm looked at his own glass as if he'd suddenly remembered that he was holding one. He brought it up to his nose and sniffed its contents suspiciously. "Are you certain this is safe to drink?"

"Trust me."

Malcolm tilted his head and narrowed his eyes in challenge.

"Ok. If not me, trust my scanner," Trip said levelly.

"Well, it certainly doesn't look like something a sensible person would choose to ingest," Malcolm commented wryly. He was peering into the drink as if he expected any moment to see something jump out of it, and Trip shook his head. "Come on, Malcolm," he said with a chuckle. "Ya know the adage: we're explorers… let yourself go a little."

Malcolm sighed, raising his gaze from the glass without moving his head. "Need I remind you of what happened the last time I let myself go in an alien bar, in your company?"

Trip snorted. "I'm not gonna ask ya to follow any gorgeous females into any cellar, I promise."

Malcolm smirked and took a small sip, immediately pulling a disgusted face. "Good Lord, how can you expect me to like something that is _this_ sweet?" he asked in dismay, lowering the glass.

"What's wrong with sweet?" A glint of amusement entered Trip's eyes. "Alright. When we get back to Enterprise I'll dig somethin' out from my secret stash - to rinse our mouths with. How 'bout that?"

"That, Mr. Tucker, is a _helluva_ good idea."

Trip burst into laughter. "Ya'll never get that Southern drawl right, Loo-tenant," he teased him, thickening his accent on purpose; and he was pleased to see Malcolm's grin blossom into a full smile. Well, at least he had obtained what he wanted: his friend was beginning to relax.

A moment later Malcolm's face had suddenly fallen and he had swivelled abruptly, muttering something under his breath. Trip looked at him in surprise, but then became aware of a clamour rising among the background noise of jumbled voices.

He cast a glance to the lower floor: something was happening in a corner of the plaza. He saw people scuttling away from the spot, and watched Malcolm set his glass down on the counter without averting his eyes from the scene.

"What's goin' on?" Trip asked, taking a step forward towards the balustrade. He felt Malcolm come up beside him and tense. "Can you see anythin'?"

"Bloody hell."

The muttered curse made Trip shift his gaze to his friend. Before he knew it Malcolm had got out his phase pistol in a swift, fluent movement, and Trip's stomach clenched.

"Malcolm?"

Trip turned again and scanned the place frantically, trying to find what had provoked Malcolm's reaction. And then he saw it: on the far side a man had T'Pol in a tight grip and was threatening her with a gun. Archer was a step away, hands held out in a calming gesture.

Trip's heart jumped into his throat. "What the hell…" he breathed out tautly. He watched in shock as people cleared away from the spot and returned to mind their own business, unmindful of T'Pol and the Captain's plight.

The attacker had his back almost completely turned to them, and with his peripheral vision Trip saw the Armoury Officer's arm come up to take aim. Trip tore his eyes away from their threatened crewmates: weapon in a secure grip, Reed had the man in his direct line of fire and was stock still, a block of granite. Around them, people seemed to watch the scene with nothing more than curiosity.

"Stun him," Trip urged.

Malcolm's face was an impenetrable mask but for his grey eyes, which showed more than Trip would have liked to read at the moment.

"Malcolm! What the hell are you waitin' for?"

Trip was puzzled by Malcolm's hesitation. He had no doubt the Armoury Officer could hit the target that man was offering almost with his eyes closed.

Malcolm swallowed; then, to Trip's bewilderment, lowered his weapon, shaking his head once, hard. "It's not safe," he said in a deep voice, releasing the breath he'd been holding.

Trip grabbed him by the arm, a little more roughly than he had intended. "What do you mean it's not safe? A still target from this distance? You can hit one half the size of that man," he snapped back.

Malcolm pursed his lips. "You don't understand…" he began, his eyes darting between Trip and T'Pol.

"There is nothin' to understand, just do it," Trip repeated in frustration.

Malcolm flashed him a stormy look. "It might not be the right thing to do," he said, and his voice was uneasy. As if he, of all men, lacked confidence.

Trip couldn't understand what was going on with his friend, but he knew that things might get out of hand any moment down there. They had to take their advantage before it slipped away, and if Malcolm was hesitant, he would decide for him. He clenched his jaw.

"Shoot, Lieutenant, that's an order."

Malcolm cast him a longer, almost pained glance, but responded to Trip's authoritative tone. Taking a deep breath, he held it in and raised the pistol, tensing up into a shooting stance again. But still he wouldn't pull the trigger.

"Dammit, Malcolm, do it or hand me the pistol!" Trip growled. "Even I can hit a…"

Too late. The assailant had turned, and now T'Pol was facing them.

Trip cursed in frustration. Leaning with both hands on the balustrade, he watched helplessly as the man dragged T'Pol away from the main plaza, followed obediently by Archer, all of them disappearing into a passageway which led to other sections of the compound.

Trip swivelled to face Reed but Malcolm gave him no time to open his mouth. "Let's go," the Lieutenant said in low but resolute tones this time. He took off towards the nearest staircase and Trip was left no other option than to do the same.

As he jogged after him, Trip reached for his communicator. "Tucker to Mayweather."

"Commander, how are the local beverages?" Travis answered cheerfully.

"Travis, someone just dragged T'Pol away at gunpoint. The Capt'n went with them too," Trip said in one breath. "Where are you?"

"Hoshi and I are on the underground level." All happiness had gone from Travis's voice.

They were running down the staircase two steps at a time now, Malcolm nimbly dodging people, Trip bumping into them and having a hard time keeping up with the lighter and more agile man.

"Tell him to get to the landing platforms, keep an eye on any vessels leaving," Malcolm shouted over his shoulder, and Trip wondered how the man could look so focused ahead and still be well aware of what was going on around him.

"Check all departin' vessels," Trip immediately relayed.

"Aye, Sir."

They finally reached the ground floor, and wound their way through the crowd to the place where they had last seen T'Pol and Archer. Scanners in hand, they began to check for human or Vulcan biosigns, but with so many different races on the planet it was a long shot.

"Where the hell are they?" Trip growled in frustration.

"Let's separate," Malcolm instructed. "You take left, I take right. But – Commander." He uncharacteristically grabbed Trip by the arm and looked straight into his eyes. "No rushed decisions. Contact me if you find them."

Trip nodded, feeling his friend's tension through the grip he had on him, and they parted.

Trip made slow progress among the people that swarmed the plaza. They all seemed to have returned to their activities as if nothing had happened. There were many species Trip had never seen before and he looked warily around as he moved on. It was difficult to concentrate in that confusion of sounds, colours and movement, and Trip kept glancing at his scanner, hoping the instrument would show familiar biosigns.

A burly alien jostled him as he passed by, making Trip stumble and crash against a stall laden with artefacts; a squeal erupted from behind it, and a scaly hand shoved him roughly away, its owner sending a string of angry words after him. He muttered 'sorry' and carried on, cursing his own streak under his breath and scanning the place with his eyes.

Was that the blue of a Starfleet uniform? Trip quickened his pace, pushing his way through people without worrying now if he was being less than polite. But when he got closer he realised that what he had seen was the jacket of some kind of personnel that seemed to be stationed at key spots in the compound. Could it be security?

He was about to approach the man, when his scanner beeped. Vulcan biosigns. Trip's heart began to race, and he reached for his communicator.

"Tucker to Reed."

"Yes."

"I've got Vulcan biosigns," Trip said in earnest. "This floor, somewhere in the eastern section. Not too far from where I am."

"What about human biosigns?" Malcolm asked after a brief moment.

Trip checked his instrument. "I don't see any," he said. "But perhaps as I get closer the scanner will pick them up. Or they got separated."

There was another small pause, then Malcolm's voice came through again, and Trip could hear the urgency in it again. "Send me the co-ordinates and go there, but don't do anything. Wait for me," Malcolm said in the inflexible tone of command.

"Understood." Trip did as instructed and flipped his communicator closed, smirking. Malcolm _was_ the Chief of Security, he mulled as he headed for the eastern section; which meant he _would_ be in charge of this contingency. Still, the Lieutenant had given him a rather harsh order, and there had been a dark ring to his voice that left him wondering. His behaviour so far had been more than a little offbeat.

Trip took position behind a column a few meters away from one room. His scanner told him T'Pol was being held behind that closed door. He didn't have long to wait. Soon he spotted Malcolm jogging his way.

As he came to a halt near him their eyes met, and Trip read the silent question in the other man's. "Meeting rooms," Trip informed him, jerking his chin towards a series of doors opening onto a large corridor. T'Pol seems to be inside that one," he added, pointing to the second door on the right. "No signs of the Capt'n."

Malcolm leaned against the column. "How many biosigns in there?" He was breathing a little faster from the running, and his eyes were fixed on the closed door as if by staring hard enough he might be able to see through it.

"Two, one unknown," Trip replied. He showed him the readings on his scanner.

Malcolm glanced at the instrument. A rivulet of sweat trickled from his temple down the side of his face, and Trip watched it leave a shiny path on Malcolm's cheek. Indeed the air in the compound was warm and stuffy, and Trip's own forehead was beaded with perspiration.

"Have you tried hailing the Captain?" Malcolm asked as he wiped an arm across his brow.

"Yeah. No reply."

Crossing his arms in front of his chest, Malcolm pursed his lips, deep in thought. "I don't like this," he murmured tensely. "Assuming that _is_ T'Pol, if we manage to free her it might endanger the Captain."

Trip felt like reminding the Lieutenant that they wouldn't be in this situation had Malcolm followed his order to shoot the man when he'd had a chance, but he knew this was not the moment to say that, and bit his tongue. Frustration and concern were pulling at his gut, though, and he couldn't stop himself from barking out, "Well, here we are now: what are we gonna do, Lieutenant? We can't exactly sit on our hands."

Malcolm glanced at him briefly, but long enough for Trip to see his gaze turn to ice; when he spoke, his voice was deep and all spikes. "A hostage situation is a tricky thing to handle, Commander," he said dourly. "A damn nightmare." He clenched his jaw. "We must find out where the Captain is."

Trip was about to ask him how he proposed to do that, when his communicator chirped. He flipped it open and Travis's anxious voice floated out.

"Commander, I'm reading human and Vulcan biosigns aboard a vessel that is about to leave the planet's atmosphere."

Trip exchanged a wide-eyed look with Malcolm. "Tell Enterprise to keep track of it. Tucker out," he shouted back as he followed Reed, who had taken off towards the door, phase pistol at the ready.

A well-known determination was now on Malcolm's face. "Open the door, on the count of three," the Lieutenant whispered tautly, checking the setting on his pistol.

Cursing the fact he was unarmed and unable to help if things got ugly, Trip prepared to do his part. Malcolm mouthed the countdown, and when Trip flung the door open hurled himself inside, phase pistol aimed in front.

Two people jumped up in alarm, knocking their chairs down.

"Ambassador?" Trip and Malcolm exclaimed in unison.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

§ 2 §

It was Soval who found his tongue first and broke the stunned silence.

"Commander, Lieutenant," he said, quickly recovering his Vulcan control. "May I ask what you are doing here and why you are interrupting a private meeting in such a… forceful way?"

He might have looked unperturbed but his voice had the slightly higher pitch of annoyance, if not trepidation. Trip shared a meaningful glance with Malcolm, who had lowered his pistol and seemed eager to bolt out of the door again. Trip didn't want to waste any time either, but was intrigued by Soval's presence on Vegor 2.

"I might ask you the same thing, Ambassador," Trip replied coolly. "At least as far as the first part goes."

Trip wondered briefly how much he should tell the man. He had never totally trusted Vulcans, and this one in particular, who had more than once seemed openly eager to see Enterprise grounded.

The person with Soval had taken a few of steps back into a darker corner of the room and turned away from them, his body language conveying the firm intention to keep out of the conversation, in fact to remain as much in the background as possible. He was a tall humanoid, and from the little Trip could see, had rather indistinct features but the bearing of a person of importance. Trip did not recognise his species.

Suddenly Malcolm spoke.

"We ought to go, Commander," he murmured in a low voice that said more than the words let through. Trip shot him a questioning glance and read a request for caution in the Security Officer's eyes.

"You owe me an explanation," Soval said firmly. "I insist to know why you have broken in here in such a fashion."

"You aren't by any chance sayin' you're _curious…_" Trip retorted with a challenging grin. "Sorry," he added a moment later, quickly reshaping his features to seriousness. "We made a mistake." He was about to leave when a sudden thought stopped him in his tracks. "But maybe you oughtta tell me where I can find you – in case I wanted to. Our scanners must be malfunctionin', because they didn't pick up any signs of Vulcan ships in orbit…"

Soval looked as uncomfortable as a Vulcan might allow himself to be. "I'll contact Enterprise myself, if needs be," he said.

Trip bit his lip, not liking the reply. A little voice told him he should make sure he knew where to find the Ambassador. "What if _I_ need to get to you?" he asked, knowing the question was a bit more revealing than he would have liked.

Soval narrowed his eyes. "Then I suggest you leave me one of your communicators," he said in his flat voice.

Trip clenched his jaw, weighing his options. He could see Soval would not give him any alternative, and he had no time to argue with him. He turned to Malcolm, hand outstretched; Reed met his eyes and smirked unhappily, but unzipped his arm pocket and handed him the device.

"Thank you, Commander," Soval said, receiving the object from Trip. He blinked once. "A logical decision," he added.

Trip felt Malcolm's hand on his arm. "Commander, we really must go now," Reed repeated with restrained urgency. A moment later they were racing to their shuttlepod.

* * *

"I asked the traffic controllers, and the vessel on which T'Pol and the Captain left is Felesian," Hoshi informed Trip as Travis readied the shuttlepod for lift-off.

"Who the hell are they? Ever heard of them?" Trip asked, plopping down in the co-pilot seat.

Hoshi's brow knit imperceptibly. "I think I came across the name once," she replied. "It might be in the Vulcan database. I'll check first thing when we're back."

Trip reached for the comm. link. "Tucker to Enterprise."

"Go ahead, Sir," Hoshi's replacement replied.

"We are returning to the ship, will be dockin' in…" He glanced at Travis, who mouthed 'fifteen'. "…Approximately fifteen minutes."

"Understood."

"Is Müller on the bridge?" Malcolm asked, before the link was cut off.

"Sir?" Müller's bass voice replied.

"As of this moment nobody is to try and hail me through my communicator."

There was a puzzled pause which lasted but a second.

"Aye, Sir."

"Are you keeping an eye on that vessel?"

"Yes, Lieutenant. It left the planet's atmosphere a few minutes ago."

"Don't let it out of sight. Reed out."

The shuttlepod lifted and Malcolm, who had been standing, almost lost his balance. He stumbled to a bench and dropped to sit on it mumbling a soft curse. Trip turned to the sound and took a moment to study his friend, knowing all too well what must be going on inside him. Not that it was difficult to guess - his own guts were in knots. But taking in Malcolm's rigid posture and taut face – gaze glued to the floor – Trip mulled there was really no mistaking his friend's feelings.

Reed no doubt felt the weight of responsibility and quite badly, and Trip winced at the thought that this time it couldn't be argued that he had indeed reason to. Trip wanted to know what had happened on the planet, why the generally self-assured Security Officer had wavered; but this was neither the place nor the moment for questions. And although the memory of Reed's fateful hesitancy stirred feelings of irritation deep inside him, Trip made an effort to stifle them. He knew it would be a mistake to let them have the better of him. A confrontation with Malcolm was not going to help them in the rescue mission that lay ahead. This was no time to place blame and pull apart, but rather to work together.

As if aware of Trip's close scrutiny, Malcolm roused himself from his thoughts and raised his eyes. They were stormy, just as Trip had expected. Malcolm opened his mouth to speak then closed it again, and Trip shook his head lightly, sending him a silent message. Explanations could wait. He watched to make sure Reed had received it then turned to Travis.

"How much longer till we dock?" It was a stupid question, Mayweather had told him five minutes ago that the flight back would take fifteen minutes; but Travis, bless him, didn't underline it and just answered, "Ten minutes, Commander."

"The person with Soval…"

Trip turned again to Malcolm's veiled voice. The Lieutenant had a concentrated expression on his face.

"I wasn't able to get a good enough look – only got a glimpse of him when I burst in, before he withdrew into that dark corner – but something about him struck me as strange," Malcolm continued. He averted his gaze briefly, before shooting a questioning look at Trip. "Have you noticed anything?"

Trip frowned. "Not really, but his behaviour was sure suspicious… Is that why you cautioned me against tellin' Soval more?"

"Yes. Something was not right in that room." Malcolm pursed his lips and tilted his head, then wondered in a throaty voice, "Why is a person of Soval's importance on Vegor 2, and why was the person he was meeting with trying to hide his identity?" He smirked. "And how did Soval get to Vegor in the first place, if there are no Vulcan ships in orbit? Besides, if he didn't get here on a Vulcan ship, why is that?" He shook his head. "I wouldn't trust telling him anything before we get a clearer picture of what is going on."

Trip heaved a tense breath. "As soon as we are on board Enterprise we'll go after that vessel and try hailin' them. Hoshi, I count on you bein' able to communicate with these Fel… Fel…"

"Felesians," Hoshi filled in. "I'll get into the Vulcan database right away, Sir. But even if their language is not in there, I'll do my best."

"Four minutes to docking," Travis announced.

* * *

Archer grimaced as he groggily floated towards consciousness, letting out a low groan: there was a bitter taste in his mouth and his head hurt, a vein in his temple throbbing painfully with every heartbeat. He knew, unfortunately, that these were not the after-effects of a drink too many. The memory of the alien injecting him with that painful substance was still lingering in his mind, no matter how befuddled this felt at the moment. Well, he might not have clear thoughts, but he still had his life, for which he had seriously feared in the brief moments before losing consciousness.

He made to raise a hand to massage his forehead, and found that he could not. Tied. He cracked his eyes open. Pitch dark. "T'Pol?" he croaked out. Silence. Another groan, this one containing also a good deal of aggravation, escaped his lips.

Slumped on a cold metal floor of some kind, all he could hear was his own breathing, ragged and loud. Actually… He held his breath. A low-pitched background noise was also there… the buzz of engines. They -- _he_ must be on a ship. Yes, he could feel the familiar vibrations.

With a determined effort Archer forced himself to a sitting position, squeezing his eyes tight as fireworks erupted in his skull. Immediately he felt his body weaken, and he doubled over, the pain, the darkness and the sudden nausea rising in his throat teaming up to make him lose his balance. Once again, he fell to the floor, on his side. The metal flooring was cold against his temple, a blessing for his aching head, so he just lay there, spent.

Things had happened so damn fast. _Don't they always, when they take a turn for the worse?_ he mulled grimly.

T'Pol had looked so at ease on that planet. Archer made a conscious effort to relax his tense muscles, and let the memories wash over him.

They had watched Travis and Hoshi disappear through the crowd towards a section of the compound lined with food stalls, engaged in cheerful conversation. Archer had suddenly envied their easy and companionable friendship, and asked T'Pol, out of the blue, if she minded him keeping her company. She had arched a graceful eyebrow, in that characteristic way of hers which he had grown so fond of, and told him that she had no particular objective in mind and he may escort her if he so desired. Archer had smiled at the unerring formal wording of her reply, and she had raised also her second eyebrow, latching her hands behind her back.

They had roamed the ground floor, Archer enjoying watching her closely. He had tried to do so unobtrusively, but he had definitely been less interested in the stalls and merchandise themselves than in T'Pol's almost imperceptible reactions to them. It had become a game for him to try and figure out the feelings that ran behind her deep, dark eyes and porcelain features. For he knew they were there, not so buried as she made them out to be, not so carefully kept in check as she may want them. It hadn't taken him so very long to find out, either. He could still remember one of the first times he had recognised that in T'Pol. They had been visiting that Akaali village, looking for the source of the energy readings they had detected from orbit, and he had told his Science Officer that he'd remain behind to question Riann, the Apothecary. The woman had offered him a cup of tea, and as T'Pol was leaving to return to Enterprise she had murmured to him 'enjoy your tea'. The ribbing, the subtle humour had been clear; and also a touch of jealousy, which had thoroughly pleased Archer's ego.

In the compound on Vegor 2, T'Pol had casually led them to a line of stalls where cuts of cloth were sold. Some were made of material the like of which Archer had never seen. Thin and light, vivid colours blended into each other to form random patterns of fascinating beauty. He had reached out to touch one bolt, intrigued by its alien texture, and had been surprised to see T'Pol hesitantly do the same, obviously giving in to another one of those oh-so-human emotions - curiosity. Archer remembered thinking that women, no matter of what species, all seemed to be attracted by fabrics and articles of clothing. He had cracked a joke, saying a dress made of such thin material was not going to leave much to the imagination, and T'Pol had given him one of her trademark replies, saying 'she failed to see the logic in looking at someone and trying to imagine what was under their garments'. They had walked away with Archer laughing softly and explaining to her that it was definitely not because of any logic that people did that.

A moment later a gun had been pointed at T'Pol's temple, and a stout man had held her with her back against him, pressing his left arm against her neck. Archer had been petrified as the alien shouted excitedly in his unintelligible sibilant jargon. T'Pol's face had been impassive, but her wide eyes had been darker that usual.

_Damn_, Archer silently cursed as worry for his SIC made his heart clench. He shifted a little so as to move his throbbing temple to a cooler piece of flooring. What the hell did that man want with them? He had dragged T'Pol away, and Archer had followed him, not sure the attacker wanted him to, but both afraid to make the wrong move and unwilling to see his Science Officer disappear in the clutches of a terrorist. And then, after they had left the crowded central plaza, two other aliens had joined them. A hypospray had been emptied into his bloodstream, pain instantly shooting through his head, and all had turned dark.

Archer cracked his eyes open, staring off at nothing.

And now he was here.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

§ 3 §

Decon seemed interminable. Malcolm usually enjoyed the peaceful environment and soft blue lights; and especially the feeling of cleansing his body from any unwanted travelling companions. He was a rather private person, but had even grown accustomed to being – when the circumstances required it – scantily clothed in the presence of other crewmembers. It had taken some learning, especially with some crewmembers sharing decon with him – uhm, in particular _one_ Ensign; but he had managed it. And coating himself with gel no longer made him cringe in disgust.

Today, though, decon was insufferable.

As they waited and hoped for Phlox's green light, Trip had paged the bridge, he too obviously feeling nervous and impatient. The Felesian vessel was still within sensors' range, and Trip had ordered Mayweather's replacement to break orbit and set out in pursuit at Warp 4.

Malcolm felt like pacing, but was too self-conscious to do it. It would give away too much of his emotional state. He hugged himself tightly and leaned back against the wall, re-playing in his mind the events that had passed.

_You did the right thing_, he told himself once again. He silently screamed it, in fact, for all of a sudden his conscience seemed to have become pretty hard of hearing. But what if he _hadn't_ done the right thing? They all might have been back on Enterprise right now, safe and sound, if he had pulled that trigger. No. A memory flashed through his mind, and out of instinct he scrunched his eyes shut, exhaling loudly and passing a hand over his face to erase it.

When he looked again, Trip was there. "You ok?" Trip asked softly. Hoshi and Travis were deep in conversation in another corner of decon, so the question had been meant for his ears only.

Malcolm considered giving him his standard reply, but it was painfully obvious that he wasn't 'fine', and it would only get Trip mad if he said so. That wouldn't be fair to his friend either. He felt he owed him at least an explanation, if not more.

"Trip, there is a reason why I didn't shoot," he replied just as softly, looking up into the taller man's blue gaze and holding it. He swallowed. What he was going to say next was difficult and threatened to stick in his throat, but he needed to spit it out. His eyes yearned to leave the face of his Commander and friend, but he forced them to stay put. "It might have been… the wrong decision, I'm not certain. But…"

"You're all free to go," Phlox's voice interrupted. "You didn't pick up anything pernicious on that planet."

"Thanks, Doc," Trip called over his shoulder, his eyes still locked with Malcolm's.

"Let's go," he said, and Malcolm was grateful and relieved that Trip's tone was neither harsh nor accusing. "Whatever happened," Trip added quietly, "Is in the past. Now it's time to focus on what's ahead."

Malcolm's heart clenched. Trip would never guess just how true some of that rang to his ears. But sometimes, unfortunately, the past had a way of interfering with your present.

He heaved a deep breath and let Trip's hand, which had come to rest on his shoulder, guide him gently through the door. He felt a confident energy come from his touch and drew from it, determined to get them out of the fix which he himself might have gratuitously landed them in.

Thank God for positive-thinking Southerners.

* * *

The young woman at helm looked quite happy to hand the piloting over to Mayweather. A collective breath of relief, in fact, was almost audible when the senior officers stepped onto the bridge.

Hoshi immediately went to her station and called up the Vulcan database.

Müller slid out of the seat at tactical, nodding to Reed. "We haven't let it out of sight, Lieutenant," he said sternly, pointing to a blip on the monitor.

"Thank you, Bernhard."

Trip sat down in the Captain's chair. "What's their speed, Travis?

"Warp 3.5, Sir."

"How long till we catch up with them?"

Travis made a fast calculation. "At both our current speeds, about twenty minutes."

"Here it is," Hoshi's earnest voice called out. "Felesia," she read. "Third planet of twelve in a system set in the eastern sector of the Alpha Quadrant. Some four light years from here."

Hoshi skimmed through the file, looking for the most relevant information. "Not outright xenophobic but a strongly individualistic race," she continued. "Technologically advanced." She pointed a finger to some information on the screen. "Here. The Vulcans made contact once. I'll upload the language into the UT right away."

"One thing less to worry about," Trip commented tensely. "Are we in range for hailing them?"

"Barely, Sir," Hoshi replied. "But I'll still need a minute to set up the UT."

"We're gaining on them, Sir," Mayweather chimed in.

Malcolm checked his readings. "It's a small vessel but quite well armed. Particle weapons and torpedoes. Shall I bring our own weapons online?" he asked in a calm voice.

Trip turned to him, pleased and relieved that the Lieutenant seemed to be his normal, cool and gritty self again. He had to be able to count on him. The scene on Vegor 2 had made him realise that he had always taken Malcolm's seemingly infallible confidence and determination for granted. The man was human after all – even though sometimes he didn't seem it.

"Hold your horses, Malcolm," he said after a moment of consideration. "We don't want to come in too strong. Just polarise the hull plating."

Malcolm nodded and proceeded to do as ordered.

They travelled in silence for a couple of minutes. Trip felt anxiousness grip him with icy hands and made a conscious effort to try and relax his taut muscles. Damn, he hated this kind of responsibility, making decisions that could cost the lives of friends. Pursuing unknown aliens who had abducted their Captain and First Officer wasn't the kind of mission he had expected to ever be on. In his early days in Starfleet he had envisioned a totally different future for himself. And when he had got the post of Chief Engineer onboard Earth's first Warp Five ship he had imagined himself keeping the vessel in perfect working order as they happily roamed the universe, drawing star charts and meeting new species. _Peaceful _new species. And although, after they had launched, it hadn't taken him long to realise how naïve his expectations had been, it still hit him hard every time they ran into scrapes like the one they were facing now.

Hoshi's voice roused him from his thoughts. "I'm ready, Commander," she said, and her tone, like Malcolm's, was one of professionalism. Thank God he could rely on a damn good crew. Friends who would give all they had to bring their people back.

Trip turned to his left and felt his chest constrict at the unfamiliar sight of a blond head bent over T'Pol's science station. Their Vulcan SIC often had a way of getting on his nerves, but he had inexplicably grown fond of her, and he suddenly realised that Enterprise just didn't seem to be the same without her. Turning back to Hoshi, he nodded his 'go ahead' and stood up.

A moment later a stout man filled the screen in front of them. Trip exchanged a quick look with Malcolm and read in his eyes confirmation that this was the alien who had threatened T'Pol.

"I am Commander Charles Tucker of Earth's starship Enterprise," Trip said, his voice not quite friendly but carefully keeping his anger in check.

The Felesian looked at him and then let his eyes wander around the bridge, to the others.

They were light years away from Earth, and here was someone who, except for eyes that were set a bit further apart and a slightly greyish skin colour, could have been one of them. Trip never ceased being amazed by the fact that the universe wasn't really all that wild in its diversity; he had always thought it quite remarkable that so many not-all-that-different humanoid species existed.

"You are of the same species as the man we have in custody," the alien finally said. His voice was metallic, giving it a disturbingly cold tone.

"That is precisely why we are hailing you," Trip said firmly. "You are holding captive our Captain and Vulcan First Officer. You attacked them on Vegor 2 without provocation. We demand that you reverse course immediately and return them."

The alien broke in a smile that revealed one of those small differences that made the universe varied after all: teeth that were very thin and sharp, like rows of nails. The expression on his face was far from cheerful, though. "I am afraid we cannot do what you are asking," he said.

Trip clenched his jaw. "Why did you attack and kidnap our people?" he asked outright, and this time he could not keep the rage he felt from showing through. "We have no issues with Felesians; we had never even met any of you before today."

The man shrugged. "Blame it on fate. And on a small mistake. Your Captain looks a lot like a Doronite. And he was in the company of a Vulcan. Not exactly the one we wanted, but we realised it too late. Our intelligence was limited, unfortunately." He came closer to the screen and narrowed his eyes. "So now we will have to make do with what we have."

"Who the hell are you?" Trip barked back. "And what are you talkin' about? What are you plannin' to do with our people?"

"That will depend," the alien replied calmly. "But I suggest you keep away from us," he added with another, rather threatening smile.

Trip took a calming breath. In the months aboard Enterprise he had learned from Archer that the art of diplomacy was a subtle thing. Not that he felt particularly inclined to go down that lane, mind you.

"I have a suggestion too," he said, stifling his irritation as best as he could. "Drop out of warp and let's discuss this civilly, around a table. I don't know who these Doronites are, but whatever bone you have to pick with the Vulcans, we are willin' to mediate. Not if you hold our people hostage, though."

The alien looked at Trip long and hard. "I'm afraid this game is bigger than you, Commander."

Trip returned the alien's steady stare. "I'll let you know that Captain Archer has already mediated between Vulcans and Andorians. If you give him a chance he might be able to help. And in case you haven't noticed we are travellin' quite a bit faster than you. Pretty soon we'll have caught up with your vessel. We don't want a fight, but…"

He was interrupted by a harsh laugh. "Keep well, Commander Tucker. It was a pleasure speaking with you."

A moment later the screen went blank.

"Sorry, Commander," Hoshi said. "He cut the communication off."

Trip's jaw jutted out in irritation. "I noticed."

"Sir," Mayweather said in a puzzled tone of voice. "I've lost them."

"The bloody bastards cloaked," Malcolm cursed without restraint.

Trip closed his eyes and silently added a few choice words of his own. When he reopened his eyes there was cold fury in them. He turned to Reed. "I think it's time to check if we are still in range to raise a certain person through your communicator," he hissed. "But first…" Narrowing his eyes he turned to the other side of the bridge. "Hoshi, check if the Vulcan database has anything on these Doronites."

* * *

The light came on all of a sudden, blinding him, and Archer squeezed his eyes shut. The glare, moreover, was doing nothing to help his headache. His curiosity, though, was stronger than the pain, so after a moment he took a peek around. He seemed to be in a small cargo bay. Not that there was much in it, just a few crates, all seemingly well locked.

Archer took stock of himself. Heavy metallic handcuffs had his wrists in a secure grip. With a grunt he pushed to a sitting position and leaned against the bulkhead. Briefly closing his eyes again, he took a few controlled breaths, wondering why all of a sudden he had been granted the gift of light. As it was, he didn't have to for long: he heard steps approaching and then the hatch was unlocked and pushed open.

He sat straighter and blinked. One of the men who had drugged him was pushing T'Pol through the door. She was handcuffed as well.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice thick and hoarse.

"I am unharmed," T'Pol replied, but Archer could hear a thin veil of hesitation coating her Vulcan poise.

"What's going on?" He didn't know whether the aliens had a UT – they hadn't been able to communicate before he had lost consciousness – but he had to ask anyway.

It was T'Pol who answered. "These are Felesians. They are from a planet in the eastern sector. It appears they were on Vegor 2 to intercept a confidential meeting between diplomats from Vulcan and Doron. We were mistakenly thought to be them."

"_What_?"

Archer winced as his outraged exclamation sent a wave of pain through his skull. "I assume they are going to release us, then," he choked out as soon as the throbbing had begun to recede.

"Sorry," the alien butted in. "That's out of the question."

Archer turned furious green eyes abruptly on him. So the cursed man did understand them. "Would you mind being more specific?" he asked through clenched teeth.

The alien regarded him with unsympathetic eyes. "We can't go back to Vegor 2," he explained in his creepy, metallic voice. "Our intended targets will be on the alert now. But we can try and turn our little blunder into an asset." A sardonic smile cracked the man's serious features. "After all, I understand you are the Captain of your planet's first Warp Five vessel; a pretty important person. And our Vulcan lady here is no less than Ambassador Soval's former aide."

Archer's gaze was drawn to the man's pin-like teeth and he grimaced. "I still don't understand what you want with us. If you plan to use us as hostages let me warn you: Starfleet is not going to take that kindly."

The man snorted and shoved T'Pol, who stumbled forward. Then he turned his back on them and left.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

§ 4 §

"Come," Trip called from Archer's desk chair in the ready room, where he had taken refuge the hope that the silence would help him put some order into his jumbled thoughts.

Hoshi came through the door, which swished closed after she took a couple of steps inside the room.

While leaving the bridge, Trip had seen Reed cast him a glance, one that said 'let me help'. But he had ignored it, counting on the fact that Malcolm was too disciplined to press him. He needed to get his own thoughts straight before hearing the opinion of anyone else. Things had happened way too fast and he wasn't used to dealing with situations of this gravity and – it appeared – complexity. Unfortunately, after ten minutes alone and in silence, he still felt rather confused.

"I found some information on the Doronites, Sir," Hoshi said.

Her small frame stood perfectly still and at attention in front of him, and Trip felt somewhat uncomfortable wearing Archer's shoes. "At ease, Hoshi," he breathed out. He wanted to add 'you don't need to snap to attention before me', but he knew that he'd better curb his innate laid-back nature; discipline and the chain of command, especially under the current circumstances, had to be respected.

That didn't mean he couldn't interpret the part of acting Captain with personal flair, he conceded as he reached over the desk to the comm. link. "Malcolm, come in here, would ya?" Better let their Armoury Officer hear what Hoshi had to say too.

"What have you found?" Trip asked the Communication Officer a moment later, after Reed had joined them.

Hoshi cleared her throat, her posture now natural and relaxed, in stark contrast to the rigid cast that was Reed's tension-filled body. Yin and Yang, Trip briefly thought.

"Doron is the second inhabited planet in the system of which Felesia is part," she began. "Both species are about equally advanced. Although they were never in open conflict, it seems that they haven't been getting along too well either."

Trip exhaled in frustration. "Yeah, I'd gathered as much," he butted in. "Sorry, Hosh, go on," he added with a regretful smirk, as he took in Malcolm's focused expression. He could tell the man was already working out theories at full speed.

"The Vulcan database doesn't have much more," Hoshi continued with a shrug. "It appears that Doronites and Felesians have been keeping an eye on each other for decades, ever since they came into contact, both apparently afraid that the others would have designs on their own planet."

Malcolm crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head. "If they are suspicious of each other…" His eyes went steely. "When it comes to spying on people, which species would you say comes immediately to mind, Commander?"

"Hm, you mean to say the Vulcans are gettin' involved with these people's squabbles?" Trip bit his lip, a flash of Soval and his mysterious contact crossing his mind.

Malcolm let out a sarcastic huff. His voice dropped an octave. "Who better than the Vulcans can show them a few tricks? P'Jem docet."

"P'Jem _what_?" Trip asked with a puzzled frown.

"Teaches," Hoshi offered. Her eyes darted sideways to Malcolm, and her mouth twitched into a quick smile. "It's Latin, Sir."

A lopsided smirk reshaped Trip's features into an expression of annoyance. "Stick to English, will ya, Malcolm? It already sounds like a foreign language in your mouth."

"Remember when I told you that something about the man with Soval had struck me as odd?" Malcolm asked pensively, oblivious to Trips' ribbing.

There was a moment of silence.

"I think I know what you're gettin' at, but let's hear it," Trip said.

Malcolm raised his eyebrows. "Tall, lean, well-structured, light brown hair; from the glimpse I caught of him long, narrow face with high cheek-bones…"

Trip nodded knowingly. "Yeah. Sounds like a description of Capt'n Archer. And that Felesian mentioned the Capt'n was mistaken for a Doronite. So Soval was meetin' a Doronite."

Malcolm brought a hand to his chin. "Could it be that the Vulcans are taking sides in the spying these people do on each other?"

Trip felt his facial muscles harden. "I don't know, but we'll find out soon enough, I promise ya. Time to see if we can raise Soval through Malcolm's communicator." He looked at Hoshi.

"Understood, Sir." Hoshi nodded and turned to leave.

Trip saw Malcolm shoot him a hesitant glance. He looked unsure whether he too had been dismissed and should follow suit. He began to do so, in fact.

"Hang on a moment, Malcolm," Trip stopped him.

Reed turned about and lowered stormy eyes to the deckplating. The man was obviously riding an emotional roller-coaster. More or less ok when his mind was busy analysing the situation and forming tactical plans for their rescue mission; sinking into the quick sands of his conscience the moment he stopped and let his thoughts wander to the part he had played in getting them into this.

Trip heaved a silent sigh, changing his mind and once again postponing a certain conversation he wanted to have with the Armoury Officer. He needed to have more time for it.

"We oughtta be able to pick up their warp trail, don't ya think?" he asked instead, even though he knew the answer.

"Should be possible, yes," Malcolm replied, raising his gaze. It was clearer already; the question had set his mind in motion again. "We'll be at the coordinates where they cloaked shortly. But we should know even before."

"I have Soval, Commander," Hoshi's voice announced. "We are barely within comm. range, though."

"Redirect the communication in here," Trip ordered. "Don't go away," he told Malcolm. "Might as well hear what the man has to say."

* * *

"I regret that you were caught in the midst of this, Captain," T'Pol said in an atypically soft voice.

She was sitting in a corner, on the floor, her back against the bulkhead, and Archer turned to her. He had been pacing the small cargo bay. It helped him think, and he had been on that damn cold floor for too long, anyway.

"I still don't understand what _this_ is," he said with a frown.

T'Pol shifted her long legs, and Archer tried not to stare. "Doronites and Felesians are antagonistic species from two planets that belong to the same system," she said. "They are known to the Vulcan High Command."

Archer once again heard something uncharacteristic in T'Pol's voice, and felt like telling her that she shouldn't feel guilty – because that's what he thought she sounded like – but refrained. She would undoubtedly answer that Vulcans are incapable of feeling guilt.

"I am uncertain, however," T'Pol continued, "As to why – if we are to believe what these Felesians told us – a Vulcan diplomat would meet one from Doron, covertly, on Vegor."

Archer couldn't, this time, hold back a mirthless chuckle. This was more like her. "I don't mean to sound prejudiced," he told her cuttingly, "But Vulcans do like to do things behind people's backs." He lifted challenging eyebrows.

T'Pol locked her deep brown eyes with his, and Archer could almost read hurt in them. He felt as if he was drowning. Suddenly he was reminded of one of Phlox's most recent, bizarre theories – that he was subconsciously attracted to his SIC, and averted his gaze.

"I'm sorry. That did sound a bit racist," he mumbled. "My head is killing me," he added in the way of an excuse.

"Then perhaps it would be advisable for you to lie down," T'Pol predictably suggested.

_Logic, logic!_ Archer silently fumed.

* * *

"What's your business on Vegor 2, Ambassador?" Trip asked directly, as soon as he had Soval on the line.

"I am afraid it does not concern Starfleet, Commander," was Soval's unperturbed reply.

Trip felt his blood boil. "Well I'm afraid it does now," he said making an effort to keep his voice controlled. "Captain Archer and T'Pol were abducted by some _Felesians_, who have made it quite clear they mistook them for someone else: Vulcan and Doronite diplomats, to be precise. And don't tell me you know nothin' about it," he warned.

There was a moment of silence. Trip wished he could have visual. Vulcans may well be impassive, but after a couple of years in close quarters with T'Pol he had learnt to recognise the subtle shows of emotion even on their expressionless faces. Soval's silence, in any case, was eloquent enough.

Trip's eyes darted to Malcolm, and Reed pursed his lips in silent support.

"Do you know where they have taken them?" Soval finally replied in his unhurried Vulcan tones.

"Wish I did," Trip barked back. "The ship they're on just cloaked and disappeared from our sensors."

There was another pregnant pause.

"I strongly advise you to come back to Vegor 2 and let the Vulcans handle this, Commander," Soval said after a moment.

Trip's face hardened, as did his resolve. "The hell I will," he said in a sharp voice. "This is my Captain we're talkin' about; and our Second in Command. Starfleet has a right to know what's goin' on here. So…" He bit his lip. He had been about to say 'Cut the crap and spill the beans'_ – _not your typical diplomatic language. And he really didn't want to know what Soval would understand of the slang expressions.

"I demand that you tell us, and now," he barked out.

"… simple… nder…"

"We're getting out of comm. range" Malcolm muttered, crossing his arms over is chest in that tense gesture of his.

"Dammit!" Trip barely refrained from banging his fist on the desk. He exhaled loudly. "Not that I was hopin' to get much out of the man, but we don't know anythin' more than we did before – which is near to nothin'."

"Perhaps we should return within range and see if Soval is willing to tell us more," Malcolm suggested with a concerned frown.

Trip scrunched up his face in thought. "I don't want to risk losin' that warp trail." He reached over Archer's desk and pressed the comm. link to the bridge. "How long till we are at the coordinates?" he asked Mayweather.

"Eight minutes, Sir."

Trip narrowed his eyes. "Let's see if we can already pick it up," he decided, getting up. He put a hand on Reed's shoulder and they left the ready room.

Malcolm walked nimbly to his station and sat down. He got to work right away, eyes darting back and forth from the buttons to the screen in front of him. Trip leaned with one hand on the console and looked over his shoulder, feeling unreasonably reassured by the concentration that exuded from the Armoury Officer; as if the intensity Malcolm was putting in his job could alone give them a perfect warp trail to follow.

A few, tense seconds later the answer was in front of their eyes.

"Got it," Malcolm said almost triumphantly.

"Send the data to Travis," Trip ordered, and Malcolm nodded silently and proceeded to do as instructed. "Travis, set a pursuing course."

"Aye, Sir," Mayweather immediately responded.

"Commander," Malcolm said, eyes still fixed on his screen. "It appears they have picked up considerable speed. From my calculations they must be travelling approximately Warp 4.7 now."

Trip straightened up and went to the Captain's chair, where he paged engineering. After a moment Hess replied.

"We need to push the engine, Lieutenant," Trip said. "Keep an eye on it."

"Understood, Sir."

Trip stepped down to Mayweather and put a hand on his shoulder. "Go to Warp 5, Travis," he said quietly.

* * *

Eyes fixed on the screen in front of him, Malcolm tried to ignore the cold knot in his gut and concentrate solely on the task at hand. He didn't dare let his thoughts wander from the here and now. Demons he had thought to be past and buried had sprung to life again and he couldn't afford to let their haunting images distract him. Not again.

"According to my readings the ship ought to be a mere five thousand kilometres away," he said, glancing at the Captain's chair, where Trip was sitting. "That's where the trail ends."

"Ends?" Trip asked with a frown. "Ya mean they stopped?"

Malcolm thought for a moment. "It's the logical explanation," he finally said, seeing in Trip's eyes that his choice of words had sent the same thought across both their minds. Indeed he had sounded just like T'Pol.

"Go to tactical alert," Trip instructed tersely. "Travis, drop out of warp and approach the coordinates at quarter impulse."

Both officers nodded. The bridge was enveloped in the familiar dim blue light.

"Commander," Malcolm said, carefully controlling his tone of voice lest his tension seep into it, "That ship was well armed. Being cloaked, we won't have any forewarning if they should open fire." His body was already on full alert, adrenaline coursing at full speed.

"I know that, Malcolm," Trip answered quietly. He stood up and leaned both hands on the railing in front of the tactical station. "What do you suggest we do?" he asked, looking straight into his eyes.

It wasn't a perfunctory question, Malcolm realised. Trip was asking for advice, his Armoury Officer's advice. There was reliance in his blue gaze and smooth voice; more, in fact: deference to his tactical experience. And Malcolm felt warmed by the man's capacity to put things behind, as well as his willingness to show him that his trust was intact. Trip seemed more inclined to forgive and forget than he himself was. He would not disappoint him again.

"There isn't much we _can_ do," Malcolm replied sincerely. "I suggest we come to a full stop and try the diplomatic channels again. I do not recommend opening fire on a target I cannot see: our people are on board that ship, and without being able to rely on the targeting sensors I risk hitting their warp core and killing them all."

Trip's grip on the railing tightened. He held Malcolm's eyes a moment longer; then turned about.

"Full stop, Travis," he ordered as he crossed the bridge behind the pilot's seat to go to Hoshi. "Let's try again," he told the communication officer. "Hail them, Hoshi."

The Ensign's hands went without hesitation to the controls, and silence filled the bridge.

Hoshi smirked, shaking her head lightly. "No answer."

As Trip turned and took a step towards the Captain's chair, anger seething in his blue eyes, he heard Malcolm cry out, "Hold on!" Not a moment later the ship rocked, sending him crashing against the chair.

"Phase cannon fire, direct hit," Malcolm announced tersely. "Ventral plating down to eighty percent."

"Travis, take us…"

Trip's words were drowned by an explosion that sent Hoshi's console up in flames and the Ensign hard back in her seat and onto the floor.

Malcolm glanced powerlessly across the bridge, where the man at science had grabbed an extinguisher. Trip had crouched near a distressingly still Hoshi, but the ship rocked violently again, jolting them all forward. Malcolm tore his eyes away from the scene to check his readings.

"That one hit our starboard nacelle," he cried out. When he raised his gaze again, Trip was lying unconscious in a heap, blood streaming down his face from a cut on his forehead.

Malcolm pressed the comm. link. "Reed to sickbay," he paged. "We have two people injured," he told Phlox as soon as the Doctor answered. "Travis," he then urged.

Mayweather didn't hesitate: he knew what he had to do. Eyes fixed on his instruments, he started to move Enterprise away. But the ship had no momentum and it was slow going.

"Incoming torpedo," Malcolm shouted. He clenched his jaw, targeted and fired. A moment later an explosion filled the viewscreen. "And another one!" No bloody time to target this second one. Malcolm silently cursed. "Hold on!"

The ship shook under the force of the hit.

As soon as it had stabilised again, Travis sent his hands up in the air in a frustrated gesture. "The helm is not responding," he said, turning wide-eyed to Malcolm. "We're dead in the water."

Malcolm felt his blood run cold. They were at the Felesians' mercy and it was his bloody fault. He forced that thought out of his mind, together with the image of Hoshi and Trip unconscious on the floor.

Mentally slapping himself, he willed his tactical mind to kick in. He knew what he had to do, and his chest clenched. He had a duty to defend the ship. He had a pretty good idea of where the enemy vessel was: he'd have to target it manually, but there was a reasonably high chance he hit it. That, of course, would endanger the lives of the Captain and T'Pol, but on the other side of the scale was Enterprise with her eighty-one remaining people. The bloody needs of the many…

The calculations didn't take him long. He would keep the yield low. He paused, his finger hovering over the button that would fire the port phase cannon.

"Sir," Travis suddenly exclaimed.

"I see it," Reed muttered, eyes fixed on his readings. The enemy ship was de-cloaking, and relief washed over him. He wouldn't have to fire blind any more. He readjusted his aim to target their weapons, but before he could do anything else there was a flash of light and the Felesians were gone.

He closed his eyes tightly. As his heart tried to escape his ribcage he was barely aware of Phlox and the medics coming onto the bridge.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

§ 5 §

"What are you thinking of, Subcommander?" Archer asked, studying T'Pol's fine profile. She had looked to be somewhere else, and for a moment he'd feared he might have interrupted some sort of meditation.

If T'Pol was annoyed by the question, she – of course – didn't let it show. She simply stared back at Archer a moment before replying candidly, "I was pondering our present situation and calculating the odds of a positive outcome."

Archer was not able to hold in a soft chuckle: no matter what, her approach _would_ be scientific. He was beginning to relax a little. They may be hostages, but for some reason he didn't feel they were in danger. In fact, he was finding that being held captive with T'Pol was a valuable opportunity to get to know her better. A bit like that time they had taken refuge inside the catwalk of one nacelle to escape that ion storm.

"And what have you come up with?" he asked, deliberately raising his eyebrows Vulcan-style to counter the expression of slight – very slight – puzzlement that had dawned in the Subcommander's eyes at his soft laugh.

T'Pol tilted her head. "I believe the odds of being rescued are in our favour," she replied matter-of-factly. "Our abductors will gain nothing by eliminating us. Also, it is logical to think that by now Commander Tucker will have taken the appropriate measures to try and find us, and undoubtedly Lieutenant Reed will be offering expert advice in developing a plan to retrieve us."

"Yeah, those two make a good team," Archer commented. "The ship and our rescue plan are in good hands." The thought of Reed brought a smirk onto his face. "Malcolm must be fuming. And once we're safely back on Enterprise I bet he'll give me the umpteenth lecture on caution," he added bleakly.

"Perhaps you ought to take Lieutenant Reed's advice into more consideration, Captain," T'Pol said. "I believe he does not give it to aggravate you."

Archer's eyebrows took a direct plunge. "No, of course not," he bit back. Sighing, he continued, "Come on, T'Pol, you must admit that he is slightly paranoid when it comes to security."

Tilting her head a little more, she stared unblinkingly at him with a face that somehow, in its impassivity, still said 'just-look-at-us'. So he added in frustration, "All right, we ran into trouble, but not even Malcolm could have anticipated that we would have been mistaken for some… some… damn diplomats meeting for God-knows-what sneaky business!"

"Mr Reed, if you remember, wanted to assign himself or a security detail to escort you while on Vegor 2. A logical precautionary measure. One that might have prevented our current predicament."

Archer huffed and got up to pace. Food and water had been brought to them some half hour before, and their manacles had been removed, allowing them a little more freedom of movement.

"Yes, well, sometimes I think Malcolm had surgery to round off his ears," he ranted, reaching the not-so-far wall and turning about.

T'Pol wrinkled her nose and Archer realised her nose-numbing agent must be wearing off. "I fail to see the connection between the shape of the Lieutenant's ears and his desire to protect us properly," she said.

"You know what I mean, Subcommander," Archer replied testily, self-consciously keeping further away from her.

"The Lieutenant indeed analyses every situation with a rational eye." Looking up from the floor, where she was still sitting, T'Pol went on to say, "But his motives are emotional." Her eyebrows did a little dance. "I thought you recognised that and would appreciate it, Captain."

Archer shot her an intrigued look. T'Pol, lecturing him on human emotions? And making a show of knowing all about their most secretive crewmember's personality? She must have been studying her shipmates more closely than he'd thought.

"I do," he answered at length. "Malcolm keeps his feelings very much to himself but I know his exaggerated sense of caution comes from the fact that he cares about us and wants to prevent anything bad happening. It's just that…"

The door opened, cutting him off.

"Enjoyed your food, I trust?" the Felesian who entered asked with a mocking grin.

Archer replied with a friendly smile, "It was actually better than it looked." He had tasted several alien dishes in almost two years of their mission, and this particular one hadn't fared all that badly. Better than that 'blood soup' he and Trip had had to gobble down that time with Sobral. Or Klingon cuisine…

It was then that the ship rumbled with the distinctive sound of torpedoes being launched, making Archer's heart leap in his chest and erasing in an instant his newly-found serenity. T'Pol's eyes grew bigger, but Archer's gaze did not linger on them, shifting to the widening grin on the Felesian's face. It spoke plenty.

"Is that Enterprise you are firing on?" Archer demanded through gritted teeth, feeling his body clench with apprehension.

"That Commander Tuck of yours is a stubborn man, Captain," the Felesian replied coldly. "We don't want to destroy your ship, but we will if he doesn't keep away from us."

"Commander _Tucker_ is only doing what he's supposed to," Archer spat out. "Trying to get his Captain and Second in Command back. Look," he added, after forcing himself to take a calming breath. "It's not too late to stop this. Return us to our ship and I promise I will do all I can to help settle any dispute."

The Felesian snorted. "Don't worry, Captain. You'll be helping all right, without having to do a thing." He collected their plates and left.

* * *

"What's our status?" Trip mumbled, blinking from his biobed. He had just regained consciousness and was still drowsy and confused.

Malcolm shifted his gaze from the large piece of gauze covering half of Trip's forehead to his barely focussed eyes. He took a breath and stood straighter, needing to fall back on his military training to keep himself in one piece.

"Lieutenant Hess tells me the starboard nacelle is quite badly damaged. We won't be able to go to warp for at least a day," he said. It cost him a great effort to keep his voice quiet and controlled. "Helm has been repaired; communications is still out, but the repair team is making good progress."

Trip groaned and pressed two fingers on his eyes. "The Felesians?" he asked, shifting his hand to his head and tentatively feeling the bandage there. He grimaced.

Malcolm pursed his lips, his gut knotting at the thought of the news he was about to relay. "They went to warp," he murmured darkly. Lowering his eyes, he added, "Nothing I could do."

"Damn." Trip slowly rolled on his side and started to push himself up to a sitting position, and Malcolm reached out to help, steadying him. He was more than a bit acquainted with the symptoms of a head injury; Trip's balance would be off and frankly he didn't want to have to pick his friend off the floor.

"You suffered a concussion," he admonished him. "I'm not sure Phlox would…"

"You can't exactly lecture anyone on obeyin' the Doc's orders, Lieutenant," Trip cut him off brusquely, albeit accepting Malcolm's help.

Reed wondered if Trip's harsh tone was only caused by worry. He couldn't blame the man if it weren't. Slowly releasing his friend's shoulders, he remained close enough to grab him should he show signs of collapsing. "Right," he mumbled awkwardly. He bit his lip to keep himself from warning Trip that he looked way too pale to stand up.

Trip grabbed the edge of the biobed with both hands and hesitated. "Hoshi?" he asked, glancing up at him.

Briefly tearing his eyes away from the Engineer, Malcolm let them wander to a drawn privacy curtain beyond him. "She suffered burns. Phlox is still treating her," he said, barely above a whisper.

There was silence for a moment, which did nothing to ease the weight that was pressing on Malcolm's soul. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. He still had to inform Trip of something. He had debated before giving the order, and was still not sure he'd done the right thing. When the hell had he become so bloody uncertain? He seemed to be questioning every decision he had to make.

"I ordered Travis to set a course back to Vegor 2," Malcolm said, forcing himself to lock eyes with his acting Captain. "At impulse we haven't made much progress, though, so if you think it was the wrong decision…"

Trip raised a questioning chin.

Malcolm folded his arms over his chest, a grim expression crossing his face. "I believe our best bet is to try and get some answers from Soval. Once the warp drive is online again it won't take us long to be back in range to hail him; I have estimated roughly, by end of day tomorrow."

Trip nodded pensively. "You did well, Malcolm," he said, all hardness gone from his voice. Then, without warning, he let himself slide off the bed, leaning on Reed's shoulder for balance.

"Trip, you do look awfully pale." Malcolm couldn't keep it inside any longer as he lent a supporting hand.

"So what? You do too," Trip replied with a tired smirk.

Malcolm shook his head. "Be sensible. Take a few hours of rest, there is nothing you can do, anyway. Hess has everything under control. And I can…" He cut himself off, biting his lip. He could what? Mess things up a bit more? Malcolm looked away, flinching.

He felt Trip's weight on his shoulder one moment longer, then it was gone. Turning, he found Trip sitting on the bed again. "You ok?" he asked in worry.

"Yeah, fine."

Trip looked to be studying him. "Perhaps you're right. I'd better rest now so I'll be in good shape later," he said. "The ship is yours. Keep an eye on things and report to me only if anythin' comes up," he added.

Malcolm's facial muscles hardened. "Are you trying to make me feel better?" he asked, averting his gaze briefly.

"Actually, yes," Trip answered directly.

Bitterness swelled unexpectedly through Malcolm, wounding him. "I'm not a child," he said with a mirthless huff. "You can tell me what you have to. I can take it."

"Fine," Trip replied seriously. "You're a competent officer, Malcolm. In the fire-fight with the Felesians there was nothin' you could have done. So do me a favour and stop feelin' so damn sorry for yourself."

Pursing his lips against the harsh words, Malcolm forced himself to meet Trip's sharp blue gaze, only to see it soften.

"But if you prefer I can give you a kick in the arse and order _you_ to sleep while _I_ keep an eye on things," Trip added with a tired grin. "Just decide fast, 'cause my headache is tellin' me we're wastin' precious time."

Malcolm heaved a deep breath. "Get some rest, Commander. I'll hold the fort," he said in the most reassuring voice he could muster.

* * *

_The shot was a clear one. Malcolm raised his weapon and targeted the man's broad shoulders. Easy. Nothing to it. A slight pressure on the trigger and… _

"Lieutenant…" The voice pierced the memory like a ray of sun through darkness. Malcolm snapped out of his daydreaming and re-focussed on the green eyes staring at him: they belonged to a frowning Ensign Müller.

"Are you all right, Sir?" Bernhard asked, lowering his voice so as not to be overheard.

Reed passed a hand over his face to wipe away the idiotic expression that must undoubtedly be over it. "I'm sorry, Ensign," he replied. "I was absorbed in thought." He cleared his throat. "What have you got?"

"I traced that ship's warp trail for as long as our sensors were able to pick it up. They seem to be heading back to Felesia." Müller extended a padd to him.

"Thank you, Ensign. Keep a close eye on tactical systems. I'll be tied up with bridge duty for a while longer and want everything in perfect working order."

"Aye, Sir." Müller nodded sharply and left.

Shifting uncomfortably in the Captain's chair, Malcolm looked around, relieved that everyone seemed intent on their jobs. He had always felt rather self-conscious sitting in Archer's place; this time it was almost unbearable. He glanced at his watch for the umpteenth time. Little more than two hours had passed since he had left sickbay. Repairs to the nacelle were on schedule; the comm. system was back online. Nothing to do but bloody well sit on his hands and wait to get in touch with Soval. Malcolm longed for a shower and a little time alone in his quarters. He needed to regroup. But he was likely to be acting Captain for another few hours at least.

Suddenly an instrument beeped.

"A ship is dropping out of warp, Sir," Kim at tactical announced.

Stopping himself from rushing to look over the man's shoulder, Malcolm rose nonetheless to his feet. "Recognise the configuration?" he asked. His voice was composed despite what he felt inside.

"It's Vulcan, Sir."

Malcolm, who had been ready to order a tactical alert, gave a silent sigh of relief. He turned to his left and said, "On screen." Too many young faces on the bridge, he thought grimly at the sight of Hoshi's and T'Pol's replacements.

The crewman at Communications nodded and complied, and the familiar shape of a Vulcan ship filled the viewscreen. "They are hailing us, Lieutenant," she added after a moment.

"Put it through," Malcolm replied, intrigued. A moment later the face of the very man they were looking for appeared.

"Lieutenant Reed," Soval said, narrowing his eyes in a rare show of something, perhaps mild puzzlement. He probably thought Trip would be sitting in Archer's chair.

"Ambassador," Reed replied, schooling his features to let nothing through - more Vulcan than even Soval's. "We were en route back to Vegor 2, to find you."

"At impulse?" Soval asked, raising his eyebrows. "It would have taken you a rather long time."

Malcolm clenched his jaw. Wasn't sarcasm another bloody emotion? "We were fired upon by the Felesian ship," he replied darkly. "Suffered damage to one nacelle."

Soval's eyes flickered. "I did caution Commander Tucker against going after the Felesians," he commented. "Of course he had to follow his volatile nature…"

Malcolm was getting angry, but kept himself in check. He was good at it – if he said so himself – as good as any Vulcan. "I believe we need to talk," he said levelly.

Soval paused. "Where is Commander Tucker?"

"He's resting. He suffered a minor head injury." Malcolm knew his tone was cold, but couldn't bring himself to regret it.

"I wish to speak to the Commander in person."

"It's not a problem," Malcolm replied tilting his head. "I will inform him right away."

"Then I suppose I have your permission to take a shuttle over to Enterprise, Lieutenant?"

Malcolm nodded. "I'll have someone meet you at the starboard docking port."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

§ 6 §

They walked shoulder to shoulder down the corridor, towards the meeting room, in silence. Malcolm thought Trip still looked pale, but didn't mention it. He knew his friend could not allow himself a proper rest right now. Even Phlox had recognised, albeit reluctantly, that the Commander's duties were more pressing than the possible consequences of working with a mild concussion.

Hell - Malcolm silently cursed - if truth be told he too was beginning to feel fatigued; nervous energy could hold you on your feet only for so long. But he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep until...

"Nice of him to show up, don't ya think?" Trip suddenly muttered sarcastically, interrupting his thoughts.

"Yes, quite convenient," Malcolm said, knowing Trip was referring to Soval. "And aboard a Vulcan vessel. I thought there weren't any orbiting Vegor 2."

Trip bit his lip pensively. "Hmm. Don't forget, Vulcan ships are quite a bit faster than Enterprise. Might have been waitin' nearby."

They got to the turbo lift and Malcolm slowed almost to a halt; Trip, who hadn't, took another couple of steps before realising he was now walking alone. He stopped and turned to Malcolm with a questioning frown.

"Don't you want me to go back to the bridge?" Malcolm asked, unsure of what he was expected to do.

"I thought you'd want to grab a phase pistol and be my body guard," Trip said, raising his eyebrows.

Malcolm's jaw dropped open, and for a moment he was at a loss for words. He hadn't anticipated that Soval could pose a threat. The man may be haughty and obnoxious when he wanted to, but the Vulcans were still allies. "I… I had a security detail meet Soval at the docking port," he managed eventually. "I ordered them to stand outside the meeting room, but if you prefer that I…"

"Easy, Malcolm," Trip interrupted him, surprise clear in his blue eyes. "What's the matter with you, can't you recognize a bit of ribbin'?" Closing the space between them, Trip came to stand right in front of him and shook his head. "Gee, you _are_ scrambled, aren't ya?" he said thoughtfully, almost to himself.

Malcolm felt like a bloody idiot. He should have known Trip was joking. The man always managed to, even in the direst circumstances. "I'm fine," he muttered. Raising his eyes to Trip, he saw that his words had floated away unheard. His friend was studying him with eyes that now looked quite worried.

"Sure…"

Trip's scrutiny was too close for comfort and Malcolm fidgeted.

"Who's on the bridge?" Trip suddenly asked him.

"Travis, and junior crewmen at tactical, science and comm."

"How 'bout Müller?"

"I ordered him to the Armoury, to keep tactical systems in optimal working order."

Hands on his hips, Trip thought for a moment. "I don't think anyone will try and attack us now; not with a Vulcan ship nearby. Travis can handle the bridge for a little while. Come on, Lieutenant, let's hear what our pointy-eared friend has to say."

Malcolm's eyes tracked from Trip's still concerned eyes to the incongruous half smile he knew his friend was putting on to give him – and perhaps also himself – some confidence. He nodded, and they resumed walking down the corridor.

* * *

"Commander, Lieutenant." At the sound of the door opening Soval turned from looking out of the porthole and composedly greeted Trip and Malcolm as they entered the meeting room. "I regret having to interrupt your rest, Commander," he added. "Lieutenant Reed told me about your injury. I trust it isn't serious."

They all converged at the centre of the room, but Trip made no offer to sit down at the table. "I'm fine, Ambassador," he replied in a tone that wasn't confrontational but could hardly be called warm. "Besides, it's not 'interruptin' my rest' that you oughtta regret, but what has happened to Captain Archer and Subcommander T'Pol."

"It was an unfortunate incident, which no one could have foreseen," Soval replied firmly, if unperturbedly.

Trip narrowed his eyes. "Still. I hope you're here to give us some answers." What he really hoped was that his tone had made it clear that they would take no beating around the bush.

Soval's expression became annoyingly condescending. "I am on a diplomatic mission, Commander. I'll tell you only what I deem strictly necessary."

Exchanging a quick look with Malcolm, Trip read in his friend's eyes the same mounting fury he was experiencing. Before entering the room Malcolm had indeed grabbed a phase pistol from one of the security men stationed outside, and the thought briefly crossed Trip's mind that he might end up needing it after all.

"Why don't you start by tellin' us why you were meetin' a Doronite on Vegor 2," Trip bit out.

"That is not what I have come to discuss." Eyebrows fully up in typical Vulcan style, Soval hugged his elbows.

Trip saw Malcolm cross his own arms in that well-known mannerism of his, as if to counter Soval's stubbornness with some of his own.

"Are the Doronites spying on the Felesians?" Reed asked outright.

Soval tilted his head towards the Lieutenant. His face didn't let anything through, but his silence spoke plenty, as far as Trip was concerned. "What have you Vulcans got to do with it?" Trip demanded. "Ambassador?" he insisted when Soval did not seem ready to provide an answer.

"We are simply offering some technical advice," the Vulcan admitted at length. "But that does not concern Starfleet."

"And what's your end of the bargain?" Reed pressed. His hand went automatically to rest on the pistol strapped to his leg, and Soval shot him a look that on a human face would have been described as scornful.

"Are you thinking of resorting to violence to get your answers, Lieutenant?" he asked. He raised his chin. "I wouldn't advise that."

Trip bit back a sharp reply. His head hurt and his temper was being stretched, but he forced himself to remain in control. He wouldn't let this man provoke his anger only so he'd be able to tell him he was 'volatile'. "What are you Vulcans gettin' in return?" he re-phrased in case Malcolm's question had not been clear. He pinned Soval with a steely gaze.

"Nothing."

Reed snorted and looked away, narrowing his eyes in frustration. "Forgive me, but that's a little hard to believe," he answered in a low, sarcastic voice.

For a moment Soval regarded them both; then he turned and went back to the porthole, latching his hands behind his back. "Felesians are rather temperamental people," he said with a deep breath. "As you have seen," he added, glancing briefly over his shoulder. "They are reported to have had rapid technologic advancement, in the few years since our only contact with them. They have the potential to become a danger to the quadrant. Doronites are the closest species, the first who will be in danger, should the Felesians decide to become expansionistic. Doronites believe that a fringe group of the Felesians might have just such an objective in mind."

Trip exchanged a look with Malcolm. "So, if I understand this correctly, you're givin' the Doronites a few lessons on how to spy on their neighbours so that they may share with you whatever intelligence they get?" Trip scrunched up his face in disgust. "What are ya Vulcans, the… the _Big Brother_ of the galaxy?"

The reference made Soval turn abruptly, brow creased in puzzlement, and Malcolm shot him a surprised look.

"It's better to prevent a conflict than fight it, Commander," Soval said. "But I believe we should instead focus on how to get Captain Archer and Subcommander T'Pol back," he added. "I had warned you against going after the Felesian ship, but of course your volatile…"

"Don't you lecture me on my supposed _volatile_ nature," Trip cut him off, a bit more heatedly than he would have wanted. He mentally kicked himself - he had almost fallen into the trap and proven just what he wanted to dispute. Clamping down on his anger, he continued, "Did you really expect me to let that ship go off with the chance I might not be able to find it again?"

"And what have you accomplished?" Soval retorted in that damn haughty voice of his. "You placed your crew in danger and for what? Do you even know where that ship is now?"

Trip clenched his jaw, slowly counting to ten. This man was driving him crazy. Especially, he thought grimly, because if he was honest there was some truth in what he was saying. He heard Malcolm's voice and was grateful the Lieutenant had stepped in.

"It appears they set a course back to Felesia," Reed replied. "At least that was the direction they were following when their warp trail disappeared from our sensors."

"I strongly advise you once again to let the Vulcans handle this," Soval said firmly.

"Don't even think of it, Ambassador," Trip replied without mincing his words. "I've seen first hand how Vulcans handle rescue missions."

Soval took a couple of steps toward them. "Listen to me, Commander Tucker. Enterprise, from what I understand, has no warp drive at the moment. Moreover, you have no technology to see through a cloak. We are better equipped to handle this rescue."

_You can save them, or let your pride stand in the way. _Words from another Vulcan, one he had quite unexpectedly come to consider a friend, suddenly flashed through Trip's mind. He turned to Malcolm, noticing for the first time the dark circles under his eyes. He looked exhausted, Trip suspected more from tension and concern than from actual physical tiredness. His friend's gray gaze was deep, though, and as it often happened, silent communication passed between them. He could tell Malcolm thought Soval had a point.

"No arguments there," Trip finally replied. He watched as Soval's features registered surprise, and was wickedly gratified at the notion that he might have made the man experience such an undesirable human emotion.

"Commander," Malcolm said in his deep voice, drawing Trip's attention again. "Permission to transfer aboard the Vulcan ship and assist in the rescue operations."

Malcolm was standing at attention and had such a staunch look in his eyes that Trip knew he'd have a hard time denying him the request, had he even wanted to. He was glad to see Malcolm's determination. He had been more than a bit concerned about him, even though the Brit seemed to have a way of always bouncing back, no matter what.

"Your assistance is not required, Lieutenant," Soval said, rousing Trip from his thoughts.

Trip's patience was running thin. "Ambassador, Lieutenant Reed and I will be goin' with you," he said firmly. "This is our Captain we're talkin' about. Our First Officer. You can't keep us out of this rescue mission."

Another shared glance with Malcolm confirmed that the Lieutenant was ready to back him up any way he had to.

_Hell_, _Mal here might shoot you unconscious if you're not careful_, he silently told Soval as he pinned him with his eyes.

A tense silence filled the room.

"Ambassador," Trip continued in a smooth voice, changing tactics. "When I leave this room I'll be gettin' in contact with Admiral Forrest. I still have to inform him of what has happened. And I bet he'll agree with me that the Lieutenant and I must take part in the rescue operations."

To his utter satisfaction, Soval looked cornered. Trip doubted Forrest would let the High Command get away with keeping Starfleet blind as they retrieved their first Warp-5 vessel's Captain. Especially since said Captain happened to be Forrest's friend. And Soval certainly knew all that.

The Vulcan heaved a deep breath and raised his chin. "Very well, then," he reluctantly complied. He lifted his eyebrows. "I needn't remind you that the sooner we can start out the better."

"Give us forty-five minutes and we'll be ready to transfer to your ship," Trip said. "Enterprise will follow as soon as their warp drive is back online," he added, just to make it clear his ship was not going to be left behind either.

"You may wait for us here, Ambassador," Malcolm said with a gesture that encompassed the table and chairs. "Or if you prefer, I can have you escorted to the Mess hall."

Trip smiled inwardly; he knew Malcolm was only making sure Soval got the message that he wasn't to return to the Vulcan ship without them.

"Escorted, Lieutenant?" Soval enquired in slightly ironic tones. "Like a prisoner?"

"Like an honoured guest," Malcolm replied. Trip saw his mouth curve slightly upwards, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"I see. Thank you, I will be fine here."

* * *

A moment later, Trip and Malcolm were outside the meeting room.

"Stay here and guard the Ambassador," Malcolm instructed his security people, returning the borrowed phase pistol to its rightful owner. "He is not to leave the ship."

"Aye, Sir," they replied sharply.

"Honoured guest?" Trip snorted, as they walked along the corridor.

Malcolm darted him a look. "Big Brother?" he retorted in disbelief. "I thought you only read Superman."

"Big Brother is not a book," Trip replied with a smirk. "It was a program they had on TV at the end of the 20th century: a bunch of people would live together in a house and a spy camera would let you see everything they did."

Malcolm's eyes widened in horror. "I should've known," he muttered. "And there I thought you had actually expanded your cultural background to include some Orwell…"

"Oh yeah, right, Orwell. I've heard the name before." Trip's chuckle died away as a stab of pain went through his temple. He hissed, bringing a hand to his head and grimacing. A restraining hand on his arm stopped him.

"Are you certain you're well enough to go with us?" Malcolm asked, searching his gaze. "You're not well – and don't deny it. Even if you hadn't just groaned in pain it's written all over your face."

Trip huffed. "It's only a little headache. And I told ya: you, of all people, shouldn't lecture when it comes to sneakin' out of sickbay and returnin' to duty ahead of time."

"We're talking about going on a rescue, mission, Commander," Malcolm said in a serious voice. "It's a lot different from sitting on the bridge or spending a few hours in the Armoury or Engineering."

The use of his rank was not lost on Trip. Malcolm was making this an official enquiry. He was probably also worried that he would have to keep an extra eye on him.

"Your concern is noted, Lieutenant," he replied just as formally. "But you don't need to worry about me: I'll be able to take care of myself."

Before Malcolm could resume walking Trip did the same and stopped him. "I'm not the only one who hasn't been well," he said. "How about you?" he asked pointedly. "You ok?"

Malcolm hesitated, shifting on his feet uncomfortably. "Trip, I'll tell you all about it, I promise," he said hoarsely. He lowered his gaze to the floor. "There just hasn't been the time."

"I didn't ask you that. I want to know how you're feelin'," Trip replied, wishing Malcolm would look up again. The answer would be in his eyes as much as in his words. In fact more in his eyes than in his words: Malcolm could hide behind unrevealing words and a controlled voice when he wanted too, but Trip had learnt to read his gaze quite well.

Malcolm pursed his lips. It was a moment before he answered. In the end he did lift his gaze, though his words were just as sincere.

"I'm having some ups and downs," he admitted quietly. "But I won't let anything get in the way of my professional conduct, trust me."

Trip nodded. "I do." After a moment he added, "I have that call to make. Forrest needs to be informed of what's going on. Meet me in forty minutes at the starboard docking port. And have your men _escort _Soval there."

"Aye, Sir."

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

§ 7 §

Forty minutes were not very much time. Malcolm went straight to the Armoury, where he got phase pistols for Trip and himself, plus a few extra 'trifles' that might come in handy. He checked with Müller about the state of Enterprise's tactical systems, grateful he could count on this quiet man. The idea both he and Trip would be away made him more than a bit anxious: Travis would be left in charge without even Hoshi to back him up, so Müller's reliable professionalism was a blessing. Malcolm knew Bernhard would look after the crew with the same dedication he himself would use.

Leaving the Armoury, Malcolm walked briskly to his quarters. Trying not to think how wonderful it would be to stretch out on his bunk, he undressed and took a quick shower. The hot water did somewhat ease his weariness, and some ten minutes later, shaved and with a fresh uniform, he was feeling, if not well-rested, at least a bit more human. Which was really a must, he mused, on a ship full of Vulcans.

Malcolm glanced at the time: twelve minutes left. Enough to pay a short visit to a friend.

* * *

Sickbay was quiet. The privacy curtain around Hoshi's bed was still drawn, and Malcolm looked around, unsure he could disturb Doctor Phlox's only patient. A moment later a friendly Denobulan face appeared from behind a partition.

"Lieutenant, what can I do for you?" Phlox asked, his ever-present smile in place.

Malcolm took another few steps inside. "I came to see how Hoshi is, Doctor."

"Ah, of course!" Phlox's intelligent and very blue eyes danced. "She will be fine, not to worry. I treated some minor but extensive burns to her hands and arms. She'll have to be off duty for a few days, but will suffer no permanent damage."

Malcolm heaved a sigh of relief. "That's good to know," he murmured.

"She slept for a while, under medication, but woke up just recently. Would you like to see her?"

Phlox often liked to ask unnecessary questions, Malcolm thought, wondering if it was a Denobulan trait.

"So long as I'm not disturbing her."

"For a few moments, it should be fine," Phlox said.

Malcolm nodded. "I need to meet Commander Tucker in about ten minutes, anyway."

"Hmm, your rescue mission," Phlox said, all cheerfulness gone from his voice. "I just gave the Commander a thorough check-up and something for his headache," he added, leading Malcolm towards the privacy curtain but stopping at some distance from it. "He seems to be fine, although I would have preferred to keep him under observation for another few hours."

Malcolm considered the words. Trip was as stubborn as… well as himself, when it came to ignoring his injuries. "It will take us a few hours anyway to reach the Felesians, Doctor," he reassured him. "I will see to it that the Commander rests some more, and I will keep an eye on him."

"Ah, yes, you're quite the expert on concussions, aren't you?" Phlox joked, his good mood back. "Thank you, Mr. Reed. That's very thoughtful of you." With a nod he opened the curtain and let Malcolm in.

Hoshi turned at the sound and her lips curved into a gentle smile. "Malcolm," she said, "Nice of you to visit." She sounded a bit drowsy.

Malcolm approached the biobed, taking in her bandaged arms and slightly faraway expression. "Lovely mummy disguise, Ensign. But it's not Halloween yet," he joked quietly.

Hoshi raised an arm and groaned, looking at it in disgust before lowering it limply on the sheet again. "Not being able to use one's hands is something I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy."

Malcolm clenched his jaw to resist the urge to avert his gaze. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

_Damn_ - _the Captain, T'Pol, Trip, Hoshi_... He suddenly felt as inadequate as when, as a child, his father would scrutinize him seemingly only to look for things that were in need of improvement. It was a feeling he had hoped belonged to the past, and its sudden resurface was displacing, as if two moments of his life had suddenly merged.

Hoshi reached out with a bandaged hand to touch his arm. "It wasn't your fault. You did everything you could, Malcolm." After a moment she added, "Trip stopped by a few minutes ago. He told me you are going after the Felesians, on the Vulcan ship."

Malcolm saw concern knit her lovely brow and put his own hand lightly over hers. "I'll bring them all back safely, I promise you," he said, knowing in his heart he could not make such a promise, but wanting to reassure her.

"And yourself too," Hoshi added, pinning him with her dark and darkened eyes.

Malcolm allowed himself a soft chuckle. "Yes, Ma'am." He felt warmed by the care the young linguist often showed for him.

Hoshi scowled. "Don't joke. Promise you won't place yourself in unnecessary danger."

"Do I look that rash, Ensign?" Malcolm asked with a playful frown.

"Promise."

Rolling his eyes Trip-Tucker-like, Malcolm complied. "All right, Hoshi, I promise."

Hoshi heaved a deep breath. "I hope you and Trip will find a way to talk those people out of this madness."

"Perhaps," Malcolm said. This time he did avert his eyes: good as he was at hiding his emotions, he wasn't certain his gaze wouldn't betray how little faith he had in such an eventuality. "I ought to go," he added after a moment, trying to shape his features to a reassuring expression. "Trip is still my superior officer, can't make him wait." He took her hand from his arm and placed it gently back on the bed.

Hoshi smiled but her eyes were shiny. She cleared her throat. "Right," she choked out. "See you soon, then."

"See you soon," he repeated, with a small grin.

* * *

They had dropped out of warp. He was sure of it. T'Pol must have noticed too, for she opened her eyes – she had been meditating – and looked at him inquisitively.

"Looks like we've arrived wherever we're supposed to arrive," Archer said pensively.

Hours had passed – he was not sure how many, six or seven at least – since those torpedoes had been launched, and they had no idea what had happened to Enterprise. But Archer knew the Felesian ship had not shaken from a single cannon or torpedo blow, and that alone had made him nervous.

"It is logical to think Enterprise would have withdrawn if the Felesian ship's weaponry were too powerful," T'Pol said, pinning him with an intense gaze.

Archer was touched by the not so subtle attempt to cheer him up. "Oh, no doubt – provided they had a chance. But then you might have to review your calculations about the odds of us being rescued. They don't look very promising."

"Commander Tucker is very resourceful, Captain. Moreover, he is a… persistent man."

"Ha!" Archer didn't know whether to be amused or irritated; the border between the two, when it came to T'Pol, was ridiculously thin. "You can say it, Subcommander: stubborn - _stubborn_. It's not a four-letter word."

Of course T'Pol was unaffected by his tone. "I know how to spell 'stubborn', Captain. It does have more than four letters." she replied with her natural aplomb.

Archer gave a soft laugh. Indeed T'Pol could make him mad one moment and smile the next. "A four-letter word is a curse word," he explained patiently. "Many swearwords in English happen to consist of four letters: _damn_, _hell_ or… well, never mind."

His Science Officer looked at him blankly for a moment. "I see," she said at length, tilting her head and lifting one eyebrow.

"I'm glad you're beginning to know our crew so well, Subcommander," Archer teased her after a moment. "Malcolm, Trip… Have you been spending more time with them, as I suggested?"

"That is not necessary. Commander Tucker's _stubbornness_, as you like to call it, is not very difficult to observe. And his resourcefulness is well-known, not only to the Engineering crew."

"So, what else have you noticed about Trip?" With nothing to do but wait, Archer decided he might as well try and take his mind off his worries.

T'Pol shot him an unreadable look. "The Commander has a keen mind, but his choices are often impulsive, dictated by his emotional sphere rather than by his rational one. He would undoubtedly gain if he were to take up meditation."

"Trip, meditating?" Archer chuckled. "You'd have to tie him down."

The door opened abruptly, startling him.

"Can't you be a bit more gentle?" he ranted to the two Felesians entering. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."

Their captors ignored his words. While one of them stood near the door, weapon at the ready, the other roughly helped T'Pol off the floor. "Come with us," he told them, proceeding to put their manacles back on.

"What do you want with us now?" Archer demanded. He got no answer. He watched as the armed Felesian dragged T'Pol by an arm towards the door, then felt a shove on his back and stumbled after her.

* * *

Forrest looked in anger at the screen before him, where a grayish alien with two rows of pin-like teeth was holding Archer and T'Pol, grabbing each by one arm, and smiling wickedly. Someone with teeth like that should make the favour of not baring them, he mulled.

"I believe you know these people."

It wasn't a question.

"Jon, are you both all right?" Forrest asked in concern, taking in Archer's stubble and tired face, and ignoring the alien.

"Yes, Admiral," Archer replied, raising a proud chin. "They haven't harmed us."

Forrest felt his face get warm with restrained fury. "I talked to Commander Tucker, he explained..."

"Excellent," the Felesian's metallic voice interrupted him. "Then let me waste as little of your time as possible, Admiral. We obviously got the wrong people. You have forty-eight hours to find the right ones: a Vulcan diplomat and the Doronite he was to meet on Vegor 2. Then you will hand them over to us."

"There is no evidence that what you are claiming is true," a calm voice said, and a Vulcan took a step forward and came to stand beside Forrest.

Forrest saw Archer ready to erupt and sympathised with the man. He felt like turning to where Soval's aide was standing beside him and telling the irritating man to shut up. It was Vulcans who'd gotten them into this situation in the first place! Clenching his jaw, he kept his outburst corked and concentrated on the Felesian, who was speaking again.

"We don't give a damn about evidence. We know what you Vulcans are up to," the alien snarled. "You're striking up a deal with the Doronites to spy on us. It's time our Government opened their eyes to the truth." The grey face turned to Forrest. "If you care about these two you'll do what I said. We'll release them only in exchange for the diplomats."

"And if we don't find them?" Forrest asked. "The galaxy is pretty big."

"You'd better find them." The alien showed his ugly smile again. "If you can't figure it out, ask the Vulcan High Command." His face went from nasty to nastier. "They know how to find them."

Forrest straightened his shoulders. "What happens to them if we hand them over?"

"That's not your concern. You should worry about what will happen to Captain Archer and this Vulcan beauty if you don't. I'll be in touch, Admiral."

With that the screen went blank.

* * *

The Vulcan ship was quite a bit roomier than Enterprise, but the atmosphere on it was so hushed and serious that Trip felt even more ill-at-ease than he had anticipated. All those serious faces, with the same short, straight hair; all those blank eyes and controlled movements made him feel like he was at a funeral. He wondered what Malcolm thought about it, as they walked shoulder by shoulder down a large hallway being led to their quarters. Malcolm was certainly more composed, more Vulcan-like on the exterior than himself; but Trip knew the man did not lack a fun streak, having caught glimpses of it on more than one occasion. He was pretty sure the Lieutenant wasn't any fonder of their surroundings than he was.

"I promised Doctor Phlox that you would catch a few hours of rest, before we got into the thick of it," Malcolm murmured, shooting him a quick glance.

"Oh? And since when have you two guys teamed up?" Trip replied with a smile. A Reed-Phlox alliance seemed a preposterous idea.

There was a pause.

"Since you've become as stubborn as a certain Brit I know in paying little attention to your recovery," was the low, clipped reply.

Trip was surprised by the admission.

The exchange, quiet as it had been, had obviously been picked up by the fine ears of the Vulcan leading them along, who turned to look at him. "Do you require the assistance of a Doctor?" he enquired.

"Ah - no, thanks. I'm fine," Trip said self-consciously. "I had a headache but it has passed."

They took a very fast lift down a couple of decks and after a few more meanderings their guide finally stopped in front of two doors. He raised a hand to a round device, without touching it, and one of them swished open. Then he did the same with the other.

"Ambassador Soval will be meeting you for dinner in four hours," the Vulcan said, turning to face them. "Someone will come and show you the way. Should you need anything, there is a comm. link on the desk."

"Look, I don't mean to be rude," Trip said with a tense smirk, "But we haven't come on a holiday cruise. We have lots to discuss with Ambassador Soval. And it would be…"

Grey eyebrows shot up. "As I said, the Ambassador will speak to you over dinner."

With that the man bowed his head parsimoniously and left.

Trip's gaze hardened. "Damn them," he said, watching the Vulcan move away and not caring if he might overhear him.

"Commander."

"If they think I'm gonna stand by while they keep us in the dark, they better think again. I…"

"Trip!"

"What?" Trip refocused irritated eyes on Malcolm.

"I've been going without sleep for longer than I care to admit, and you suffered a concussion: four hours of rest are not such a bad idea."

Trip noticed once again the lines of exhaustion on Malcolm's face. Heaving a calming breath he raised a hand to his own tired eyes. "I suppose you're right," he relented.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

§ 8 §

_The target was ridiculously easy. He could have hit it blindfolded. Malcolm raised his weapon and targeted the man's broad shoulders. A slight pressure on the trigger and the figure crumpled to the floor. The hostage cried out in fright, then turned around, hands to her face, stunned at the sight of her stunned captor unconscious at her feet. She was neither particularly young nor particularly beautiful, but she had something special about her. Malcolm drew a deep breath and lowered the pistol, relaxing his stance. _

Gasping, Malcolm sat up straight in bed, disoriented. Where in the bloody hell was he? He stared at his unfamiliar surroundings, which the semidarkness was making even more unsettling. The Vulcan ship. His heart was so loud in his ears he was sure any crewman passing outside his cabin, with their fine hearing, would be able to hear it.

_Damn, damn, damn_, he cursed as he let himself fall back on the bed again, releasing a slow breath. Was it possible he couldn't even catch four bleedin' hours of uninterrupted sleep? He lay still, unable to concentrate on anything but the rhythm of his heart banging away unmercifully against his ribcage, until it gradually returned to normal.

Finally, with a long-suffering sigh, he got up and glanced at the time – still one hour before their meeting with Soval. Hoping Vulcans did their morning ablutions much the same way as humans, he went into the bathroom. It wasn't long since he had showered on Enterprise, but he was determined to try and drown the ghosts that were haunting him. That was provided he could figure out the alien fixtures, he thought with a smirk as he glanced at them.

A light knock on his door made him turn around. He stalled for one brief moment, wondering who it might be, then went to investigate whether he was at all able to let whoever was calling in. The round device… He raised a hand to it, not sure what actually triggered it, if body heat or something more specific. For all he knew the Vulcans might have locked them in. Lo and behold, the door opened.

"Not sleepin' either, huh?" Trip drawled, leaning with his shoulder on the wall just outside, arms crossed over his chest.

"Just woke up," Malcolm replied, trying to sound rested. "Come in," he added quietly, seeing someone coming down the corridor. "I haven't checked the room yet for listening devices, but it's still cosier than the hallway."

Trip snorted. "_Cosy_? If your room is anythin' like mine I'd say it's as cosy as a morgue. _Sterile_, is more like it," he muttered as he entered. "Even T'Pol's quarters are better than this," he added, looking around himself.

Malcolm managed to make the door close again, and turned. Trip was standing in the middle of the cabin, hands on his hips, eyes on the floor. "What's on your mind?" Malcolm asked, recognising the signs of worry on the usually relaxed Southerner. "Have you rested at all?" he enquired as he studied him for any unwanted symptoms.

Trip's eyes darted up and sideways. "Oh, come on, Malcolm, give me a break, will ya?" After a moment his face twisted into a grimace. "It's that… I don't like this. We have no control over the situation on this ship."

"I'm afraid we had no choice," Malcolm said grimly. "Even if we had waited for Enterprise to get her Warp drive back online, we'd have had no way of seeing through the Felesians' cloak. I don't fancy engaging in another fire fight with an invisible enemy."

Trip sighed. "I just hope Soval lets us have a say in the rescue plan. If he wanted to tie our hands he wouldn't have a very difficult time."

A buzzing sound made them both turn to the desk.

Trip raised his eyebrows inquisitively. Malcolm went to the desk and studied the comm. link for a moment, before shrugging and pressing a random button. "Lieutenant Reed," he said tentatively.

"Lieutenant, this is Ambassador Soval. Is Commander Tucker with you?"

"What's up, Ambassador?" Trip butted in.

"I have Admiral Forrest on the line. I will send someone to fetch you."

"Understood," Malcolm said, his eyes locked with Trip's.

The Engineer frowned. "I just spoke to the Admiral a few hours ago. What could he want now?"

* * *

"Unacceptable." Soval held his head up in defiance.

"Is the Doronite even on board?" Trip asked, pondering the information Forrest had just disclosed.

Soval wavered. "As a matter of fact he is," he finally replied. "Our business deal, as you might recall, was interrupted.

"Your _business deal _has placed my people in danger, Ambassador," Forrest said tautly. He took a steadying breath. "Look, we are not asking that you deliver yourselves in the hands of these terrorists," he continued. "But we can't ignore their requests. You need to develop a strategy... Lieutenant Reed?" he asked, shifting his gaze to the Armoury Officer.

"Sir, I have almost no elements to develop one with. I know virtually nothing of the Felesian ship. How many people are on board, the layout of the vessel..."

"I will show you the layout of a Felesian vessel of that class," Soval said. "The Doronites have shared their information with us."

Trip huffed. "Well, what the hell were you waitin' for?"

"Commander," Forrest said in a stern tone. "I trust you will do your best to collaborate with Ambassador Soval."

"Aye, Sir," Trip replied dutifully.

"Very well." Forrest pinned Soval with his gaze. "And I also trust that you, Ambassador, will not keep anything from the Commander and Lieutenant."

Soval narrowed his eyes. "Of course not, Admiral. It would be an illogical course of action."

"Keep me informed, gentlemen. Good luck," Forrest finished, locking eyes with Trip.

After the screen had gone blank Soval turned to the Starfleet Officers. "We have picked up the warp trail of the Felesian vessel," he informed them.

Trip raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Already?"

"Our sensors are more sophisticated, Commander, and our ship quite a bit faster than Enterprise."

"How long before we reach it?" Reed asked.

"They are still headed for Felesia; no more than eight hours."

Reed pursed his lips. "Then we'd better get down to work, Ambassador."

* * *

It had taken a lot of discussing and more patience than Trip thought he had, but in the end they had managed to hatch a plan. They would stop outside the firing range of the Felesian ship and hail them. Soval would use his best diplomatic skills; if everything failed, though, he would pretend to yield and go ahead with the hostage exchange while Trip and Malcolm would be beamed aboard the enemy vessel. Soval had assured them he had a way to transport them undetected. The Ambassador had wanted them to agree on taking along a couple of Vulcan security officers, but Malcolm had engaged in a battle of logic which, to Trip's surprise, he had actually won. The Felesian ship, to the best of their knowledge, was manned by no more than 6-8 people, and Malcolm had firmly maintained that the fewer people were transported, the smaller the chance they would be detected. In the end Soval – incredibly – had relented.

Trip reluctantly turned off the shower and stepped out of it. He could have stayed under the steamy water forever. Toweling off, he tried not to think of the mission ahead, but his mind wouldn't hear of it. There was a tight knot in his gut and he wondered not for the first time if he shouldn't actually let a Vulcan security officer go with Malcolm in his place. Although he was a fairly good shot – if he said so himself – a rescue mission wasn't exactly his expertise. He wanted the best person to be there for Malcolm. On the other hand he didn't love the idea of placing the Captain's and T'Pol's lives in the hands of an unknown Vulcan. In his heart he knew he was the best person for the job, but he wanted to hear it said from the Lieutenant too. He was only glad that they had finally heard from Enterprise. Their Warp drive was back online and they were en route to rendezvous with them: their ETA was in about twelve hours.

He was zipping up his uniform when his doorbell rang.

Malcolm didn't look quite his usual self, Trip realized as he studied the taut bundle of muscles that entered his room. The Lieutenant rarely let the anxiety he felt show. Trip was used to seeing him calm under all circumstances. He didn't like what he was seeing now, and his concern went up another notch.

"Here is your phase pistol, Commander," Malcolm said very formally.

Another telltale sign. Trip knew that when Reed resorted to rank, especially when the two of them were alone like now, he was definitely up tight.

"And a second charge cell."

Silently holding out his hand, Trip felt a weight fall into it. His eyes were still on his friend: if it weren't for the lines on his face, he looked as pristine as if he were just beginning a shift on Enterprise. But then again, propriety and form were Malcolm's favourite hiding places when he felt vulnerable. They were this Armoury Officer's armour to fend off prying eyes and minds. Trip refocused on Malcolm's voice.

"We also have a few stun grenades and some small explosives, but I think I'd better hold on to those," Malcolm was saying in his clipped accent.

"Be my guest," Trip murmured.

Malcolm became absorbed checking his various pockets - something Trip was sure he had already done several times.

"Malcolm…" Trip ventured after a moment.

He saw him stop in mid-action and turn.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather have a Vulcan security officer with ya on this mission?" Trip asked tentatively. He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "I'm an Engineer, for Pete's sake. I… I'm just not convinced I'll be the best person to help ya," he finished with a grimace.

Malcolm finished zipping up the arm pocket he'd been checking and studied him for a long moment. "You aren't comfortable coming?" he asked quietly.

Trip raked a hand through his still damp hair. "It's not that. I'm not afraid…" He jerked his head sideways. "Well, I am, just a little, but that's normal I guess. That's not my point. My point is: who is the best person to go with you: an engineer or a security officer?" His voice tightened. "This mission must not fail."

That earned him a self-conscious glance, and Trip kicked himself. The last bit had not come out quite the way he had intended.

Malcolm took a long time to answer, but when he did he looked sure of what he was saying.

"Trip, I trust _you_, not a Vulcan person I haven't even met before," he said darkly. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Your engineering skills for all we know might come in handy. And besides: in a situation like the one we're about to face, the team is more important than the individuals. I'd rather have with me someone I can rely on, who can 'read me'."

Trip felt instantly relieved. "Alright," he replied after a moment. Grinning, he added, "Reading Reed is my specialty. Count on me, Lieutenant."

* * *

The tingling sensation was stronger than the times he had transported off Enterprise. The Vulcan transporter must be more powerful, Malcolm realized.

As he had feared, diplomacy had failed. Things, in fact, had gone from bad to worse. The Felesians had given them a narrow deadline, threatening to kill the hostages, so he and Trip had been beamed aboard the Felesian vessel while Soval started fake negotiations to carry out the hostage exchange. The Ambassador was going to try and stall things as long as possible, to give the Starfleet officers enough time to find Archer and T'Pol. The Vulcan ship's scanners had picked up human and Vulcan biosigns, but had not been able to pinpoint their exact position on the ship or lock onto them. _Of course_, Malcolm mulled wryly. _It would have been far too simple to have been able to transport our people off_.

Checking around him, Malcolm saw that Trip too had re-materialised and was standing beside him. He put an arm across Trip's chest and flattened the both of them against the bulkhead. He could feel Trip's heart pounding, beating a fierce counterpoint to his own accelerated pulse. At least the rush of adrenaline had given him a welcome feeling of energy. He felt ready to do what he had come to do.

They stayed like that for a few seconds, listening for any noises signaling people approaching. When he was certain that they had not been detected, Malcolm relaxed his stance and let go of his friend.

The Felesian vessel was a little jewel. Incredibly well-armed and advanced for its size, it had two decks. According to the schematics Soval had showed them, the lower deck housed the engine room, armoury and bridge. They had all agreed that it was likely Archer and T'Pol were being held somewhere on the upper level, so that is where they had been sent. Malcolm saw they had re-materialized midway around its central corridor. They knew that the lift and crew quarters were in the front section; cargo bays and a small lounge room towards the back.

They both silently checked their scanners. Three Felesian biosigns, with those of Archer and T'Pol, vaguely registered on Malcolm's, but there was again no way to tell where exactly each of them was located. Something in this ship scrambled their readings.

Trip raised his chin in a silent enquiry, and Malcolm pointed just as silently to the back, glad he didn't have an all-logic Vulcan with him who would start analyzing and questioning his every decision.

To be honest, his choice to investigate the back was only a guess, but an educated one: from the little Malcolm had seen of these Felesians, they didn't seem the kind of people who would make their hostages' ride a comfortable one. He might be wrong, but he'd be more willing to bet they had thrown them in a cargo bay rather than accommodate them in quarters.

They began to move along the corridor. It was well lit and not very large. Malcolm silently prayed no one would come their way, for there was no way they could avoid a confrontation, no hiding place.

Stopping in front of the first door, Trip knelt down to check its locking mechanism, while Malcolm stood watch beside him. The door opened with a soft clicking sound, and as Malcolm refocused his attention on it the Engineer straightened up and leant against the bulkhead, weapon at the ready. Trip might not be security, Malcolm thought as he watched him take position, but he certainly knew what was expected of him. No way would he have preferred a Vulcan for this job. He'd rather take his chances with a friend he could trust.

As Trip kept his eyes peeled for anyone coming their way, Malcolm peeked inside the room, ready for action. A moment later he re-emerged into the corridor shaking his head lightly.

The next door was more of a challenge. "Told you I might need an Engineer," Malcolm whispered as Trip worked on the lock. He saw his friend grin.

They repeated the role-shift. Nothing.

As they moved on, Malcolm felt his tension mount. He had been more anxious than usual prior to starting out on this mission. He had felt the pressure of having to undo his possible mistake on Vegor 2. Now that he was in the thick of it, the adrenaline and his training were undoubtedly helping him, but a sense of unease still lingered.

They knew the next door was the lounge room. They must be careful. With or without the hostages, the three Felesians were likely to be in there.

Suddenly the door burst open and a man came through it. He turned their way and froze. Malcolm didn't waste any time and stunned him before he had a chance to recover from his surprise.

"In the last room," Malcolm whispered tautly to Trip. They quickly dragged the unconscious man inside it, and Malcolm fused the lock shut with his phase pistol. _One less Felesian to contend with_, he thought with a silent sigh. Although it remained to be see if anyone had had picked up his pistol's fire.

They passed the lounge room without incident this time. There were two more rooms on the other side. Trip quickly knelt in front of one and started working.

_Please be it_, Malcolm silently prayed. It took longer to get the better of the lock, but when Malcolm peeked inside the cargo bay and saw the Captain and T'Pol sitting in a corner, relief nearly made him dizzy. "Bingo," he whispered to Trip. They hastened to their crewmates.

"Nice seeing you guys," Archer murmured, a smile lighting up his slightly bearded face.

"Same here, Capt'n," Trip muttered back as he helped him to his feet.

"Good to see you, Sir, Subcommander." Malcolm nodded and helped T'Pol. Then he unzipped his pocket, taking out a Vulcan communicator. "Reed to T'mir," he paged. There was no reply. "These bloody cargo bays somehow interfere with scanners and communication," he said tautly. "We must get back to the transport location."

Trip was fuddling with Archer's manacles, so Malcolm urged him, "Leave that, Commander. There is no time for it now."

Stealing a cautious look outside, Malcolm saw that the coast was clear and started leading the party down the corridor. They made it past the lounge. Each step was taking them closer to safety, and Malcolm was actually beginning to think they had pulled it off when the lift door opened and three armed Felesians emerged from it.

"Against the wall," Malcolm shouted, as he crouched and targeted the first one. The man fell, but laser fire came zapping their way. _Haste makes waste_, Malcolm thought as the beams missed them, scorching the bulkheads behind. Before he or Trip could aim again, however, the remaining Felesians had taken cover back inside the lift.

Malcolm unzipped a pocket and produced a stun grenade. He timed it to three seconds; the lift was far enough that they wouldn't be affected. He warned his crewmates. "Get back!" then armed the grenade and threw it, flattening against the wall.

The explosion was small but effective. Malcolm turned his face away from it, just in time to see two other aliens storm out of the lounge door behind his crewmates. The first one was already aiming his pistol.

"Trip!" Malcolm cried out. In a split second he sprang up from his crouched position and pushed the Engineer out of harm's way, falling with him. Twisting frantically, Malcolm saw that Trip had already recovered and had taken the legs out from under his assailant, so he turned to face the second Felesian. The brief distraction, however, cost him dearly: a hard kick to his side sent him crashing against the wall, taking his breath away and making his pistol fall out of his hand. With horror, Malcolm saw the alien raise his own weapon and turn to Archer, who was still manacled and had crouched in front of T'Pol to protect her.

A wave of despair threatened to drown him, but he dammed it back with a wall of anger. Not again. He had promised he'd bring them all home safely. Pushing off the wall, he threw himself against the Felesian. He landed hard on him, and as they both fell to the floor pain erupted in his side.

They struggled. His side was killing him, distracting him, and the man was strong, or perhaps it was he who was weak. They rolled, and the Felesian was now on top of him. Malcolm grunted and gritted his teeth against the pain that was spreading through his whole trunk. The kick must have cracked a rib or two, he mulled as he stared into the cold eyes of his enemy, so very close, so very threatening. His strength was failing him; he felt as if he was moving in slow motion. The world was getting fuzzy. Bloody hell, was he going to fail again? No, he wouldn't give up, he had promised Hoshi… But in his heart he knew this was a lost battle.

Suddenly the man went limp on top of him, and he knew it hadn't been his doing. He too abandoned himself, closing his eyes and struggling to breathe under the sudden weight. A moment later, thankfully, this had been lifted off him and a hand was on his shoulder. Someone was calling him, Trip perhaps. Yes, Trip. Or was it Archer? Both. He wasn't sure; his senses were not being very helpful. Unconsciousness was calling him, and he longed to let himself go; but the voices were getting frantic, holding him back, anchoring him to reality. With an effort he opened his eyes and, blinking a couple of times to clear his blurred vision, managed to focus on Trip's and Archer's worried faces. He wanted to lift his head but failed miserably; someone placed a strong hand behind his shoulders, supporting him. Glancing down he saw a stain grow larger on his uniform.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

§ 9 §

Trip leant against the raised back of his biobed. Sickbay on the T'Mir was twice as large as on Enterprise and its walls, ceiling and floor were a strange hue of green which, to the human eye, looked definitely sickening. Turning on his side, he glanced at the form sleeping on the next bed and smiled, anticipating Malcolm's comments. Phlox might be excessively cheerful, but a look at the Vulcan doctor and you could fall into depression.

Not that the man hadn't been excellent. His quick and expert intervention had saved Malcolm's life. The damn Brit, just for a change, had given them a good scare. He had been transported off the Felesian ship not a minute too soon. Trip felt a shiver run through him at the memory of Malcolm inevitably fading and losing his fight to unconsciousness while he and the Captain tried unsuccessfully to keep him awake. Lucky Trip's blood type was of a compatible type with Malcolm's, for on the Vulcan ship there wasn't a drop of human blood to be found, and Enterprise was still a few hours away.

The Doctor had insisted that Trip rest, and to be honest he couldn't but agree with him. Tension, little sleep and donating blood didn't leave you feeling in great shape. Closing his eyes, he let himself drift off, comfortable in the knowledge that they were finally all out of danger.

When he next opened his eyes it was to meet a familiar grey gaze. He saw it check him over and track back to his face.

"Were you injured?" Malcolm eventually asked. His voice was low, but stronger than Trip had expected.

"Nah, a certain Security Officer I know made sure I wasn't," Trip replied with a smile. "Just takin' it easy after dumpin' half my blood into that pouch," he added, jerking his chin.

Malcolm's eyes trailed to the bag suspended above him; then to the IV tube feeding into his arm. "Oh." He looked away pensively for a moment then gave a soft huff of a laugh.

"What?"

"Contaminating my Reed blood?" Malcolm quietly joked, raising his eyebrows.

Trip snorted and rolled his eyes. "Don't tell your dad."

"Good grief, no." There was a pause, and Malcolm's face turned serious again. "Thanks."

"Just returnin' the favour."

Trip sat up and turned to his friend, letting his legs dangle off the bed. "So, how are you feelin'?" he enquired. He saw Malcolm's mouth dart a small smile.

"Fine, _of course_."

"Of course."

"The Captain and T'Pol?"

Trip shrugged. "A bit tired, but they're ok. The Capt'n is tryin' to make Vulcans, Doronites and Felesians come to an understandin', _of course_."

"Of course."

Malcolm looked around himself. "Vomit green. Lovely colour for a sickbay. Do you think they might have chosen it so it blends in with…" He trailed.

Trip chuckled. "Ya're disgustin'."

"I was going to say the skin of ill Vulcans," Malcolm said in mock offence.

"Sure."

There was a sound of steps, and they both turned to the stern Vulcan face of the ship's Doctor.

"Lieutenant Reed, I am Doctor Sedek," the man said as he began to check the IV flow. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm…"

Trip shot Malcolm a challenging look and he caught himself. "I've been better," he amended. "A little weak, I suppose."

"That is to be expected." The Doctor ran an instrument over his patient, lingering over his right side, while Malcolm followed his movements. "I gave you a dose of analgesic not very long ago. Are you in any pain?"

"No. In fact, I don't even exactly know what's wrong with me, come to think of it."

Doctor Sedek raised his eyebrows. "You suffered a severe particle weapon injury. You were shot at close quarters, and lost a considerable amount of blood. It was fortunate that I could use some of Commander Tucker's for a transfusion."

"Well, thank you for all you have done, Doctor," Malcolm said sincerely.

With a curt nod the physician re-pocketed his instrument. "Press this button if you need anything," he said pointing to the headboard. "I will be back later. I advise you to sleep." With that he left.

When he was sure Sedek was out of hearing, Trip commented, "Fun guy, ain't he?"

Malcolm groaned. "I never thought I'd say this, but I wouldn't mind a bit of Phlox's irritating cheerfulness right now."

Trip saw him stifle a yawn and close his eyes, and without even a menagerie to provide some background noise silence fell.

_Don't tell me you're gonna follow your doctor's orders, Mr Reed_, Trip silently wondered. He watched his friend for a couple more minutes; Malcolm was breathing slowly and evenly, and thinking he had fallen asleep, Trip prepared to lie back down again himself. Soft-spoken words stopped him.

"It was on one of my first assignments, after graduating from Starfleet."

Malcolm opened his eyes briefly as if to make sure Trip was still there; then closed them again.

Trip knew instantly what Malcolm meant to talk about. This conversation had been put off long enough, and he suspected his friend was as eager to get it off his chest as he was to hear it. He waited in silence for him to continue.

"You might have heard of the incident," Malcolm went on quietly. "In fact, you certainly did. It was during one of the early press conferences to present the NX-01 project. I was part of the plainclothes security detail."

Trip frowned. "You don't mean to tell me…" He cut himself off when he saw Malcolm open his eyes, and the bare emotion in them. "Sorry," he murmured. "Go ahead."

"So you do remember," Malcolm croaked out.

Trip thought for a moment. "All I really know is that one of the conferences suffered an anti-space program terrorist attack. There were some casualties," he carefully replied.

"Yes," Malcolm said with a barely audible huff. "Starfleet managed to keep the details under wraps to… protect me, as it were. I'd be surprised if even Captain Archer knew more than you do." He clenched his jaw and added softly, "Four people dead. Fifteen injured; five seriously."

Malcolm's eyes darted away, and Trip flinched not only at the grim piece of information but also at the realisation that the experience must have been a harrowing one. He waited patiently, giving his friend the time he needed to gather his thoughts and perhaps his courage.

"The man was holding a journalist hostage," Malcolm eventually continued. "He had his back to me, just like…" He left the thought unspoken, and Trip felt an icy knot form in his gut. An image of T'Pol and the Felesian flashed through his mind.

"It was such an easy target." Malcolm brought a hand to his eyes and shook his head. "So bloody easy. I didn't have to think twice. Took aim and pressed the trigger, and the terrorist fell to the ground. The journalist – a woman – cried out in fright; then looked wide-eyed at her captor, lying at her feet."

There was a pause.

"And I relaxed my stance, feeling damn good about myself."

Anger had seeped into the last words. Malcolm removed the hand and opened troubled eyes. "I can see her as if it were today," he choked out. "That woman is etched in my mind. Her straight, dark hair; her plain but striking features; the relief dawning on them…" His voice died in his throat and he pursed his lips to lock in his emotions.

Trip slid off the biobed and went to stand by him. "What went wrong?" he enquired gently, bracing for the answer.

Malcolm's muscles hardened and his voice went deeper. "There were two other terrorists mingled in the crowd. They began shooting and all hell broke lose," he murmured. "She, the woman, was the first to fall. I watched her surprise turn into horror as she brought her hands to her stomach. I..." His voice faltered again and he looked away.

Trip reached out to touch him. "Hey," he said when he managed to find his voice. "You couldn't have known."

It took Malcolm a long moment to regain enough control over his emotions to face him again. "No, I suppose not," he eventually murmured. With a sarcastic huff he added, "There was an inquest, and no charges were filed against me. Four people dead, yet I had done _well_."

"Ah, Malcolm…" Trip just squeezed his arm, not knowing what to say, and they were in silence for a while.

Finally Trip let out a low whistle. "Well, I can see how that could've affected you on Vegor 2." Seeking his friend's gaze he added softly, "I'm sorry I got mad at ya."

"You couldn't have known."

Malcolm's eyes were still stormy, and Trip could tell there was more on his friend's mind. "There's somethin' else, isn't there?" he asked him outright.

Malcolm swallowed then rolled slowly onto his back, flinching slightly in discomfort. "It might have looked like I froze down there, Trip," he said, eyes on the ceiling, "But I actually made a decision. A debated one, but nonetheless a decision." With a grimace he added, "And I've been wondering ever since whether it wasn't the wrong one yet again. Maybe if I had obeyed your order and stunned the man, we could have avoided a lot of trouble."

Trip had no doubts in his mind. "You did the right thing, Lieutenant," he said firmly, using the rank for stress. "After what you told me, I would've done the same. It would have been too risky to take that man down."

Malcolm shot him a look in which relief and gratitude were clear. Then his eyes drooped closed. He looked totally drained, but tension seemed to melt slowly away from him, and under the hand he still had on his arm Trip was glad to feel his muscles finally relax.

"I'm only relieved we could get our people back unharmed," Malcolm mumbled.

"You did, mostly," Trip corrected him. "On that Felesian ship you saved both my skin and the Capt'n's, Malcolm."

Malcolm's eyes cracked open again. "And who saved mine?" he asked with a frown. "The last I know I was losing my fight with that Felesian."

"Yours truly," Trip admitted a little self-consciously. He grinned. "After all, I had to prove I wasn't there only to open doors."

Malcolm heaved a careful breath. "Well, I'm glad I didn't listen to you and end up bringing along that Vulcan security officer in your place."

The words were undoubtedly meant as a compliment, but Trip's heart clenched. "Actually when I saw you bloodied and barely conscious I was sure I should've insisted that you take him instead," he said tautly, looking away.

"Nonsense. You did everything right."

Trip turned back to the firmly-spoken words.

"And I rather think we make a good team, you and I," Malcolm said with a tired half smile.

Trip's own lips curved up. "Maybe. But you've got to give the Capt'n a break, Malcolm. You keep makin' the man worried sick," he joked, to lighten the mood.

"Oh, really. It's quite the opposite, I'm afraid."

Malcolm's eyes had drooped closed again, and weariness was rounding off his typical sharp accent. Patting his arm Trip said, "I have a feelin' this Vulcan Doc doesn't take kindly to disobeyin' patients. You better get some rest."

"Not a problem," Malcolm mumbled, already drifting off.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Epilogue

"Stop that, Malcolm," Hoshi begged, trying to breathe in between giggles. "My sides hurt."

"But you injured your arms. _My_ side hurts," Malcolm replied, grinning.

Phlox passed by, shaking his head. He couldn't remember ever having had such ruckus in sickbay. Since Lieutenant Reed had been transferred from the Vulcan ship the night before, Hoshi, who was still off duty, had spent a lot of time by his bedside, and much of it had been quite the loud experience. He wondered what the Vulcan doctor might have done to the usually quiet Armoury Officer.

The doors swished open and Captain Archer came through with Commander Tucker. Archer glanced at the merry-looking pair and exchanged an odd look with Phlox. "Didn't know that getting hurt made people so happy," he muttered to him, receiving in return a face-splitting smile.

Phlox waved them on. "Go ahead, Captain. I'll – ah, how do Humans say, now… oh yes: I'll _grab a bite to eat_," he said cheerfully before disappearing behind the still open doors.

Archer cleared his throat and Malcolm turned to him, a full grin still on his face. "Captain, Commander," he said, for once not snapping to near-attention in the presence of his C.O. If anything, his smile actually got wider.

Hoshi smiled a greeting.

"Malcolm," Archer acknowledged, amused at this unorthodox version of his Fourth-In-Command. "If it weren't that you already spend enough time in sickbay as it is, I'd advise you to do this more often: nice to see you're having such a good time."

"It's the blood transfusion, Capt'n," Trip joked. "He's got some Tucker in him now."

Malcolm groaned.

Archer chuckled softly. "I don't know if I like the sound of that," he quipped with a frown. "A man who likes to blow things up with some Tucker in him? No thanks."

Malcolm's smile widened again. "I can't but agree, Sir. As Chief of Security I'd have to arrest myself, I'd be a hazard to the ship."

"'Nough, you two," Trip ranted.

"So," Archer enquired when the general mirth had died away. "How long will I have to be without my Armoury Officer?"

That did make Reed's mood change. "The Doctor says another week, Captain. But I'm hoping I might be able to make him reconsider," he replied with a smirk. "Were your mediating efforts successful?" he asked after a moment.

"Well, I don't know." Archer shrugged. "They've been arguing for the past five hours, but at least I got them all sitting around a table."

"You did more than you should have, Sir," Malcolm commented.

Archer gave a lopsided smirk. "Well, Lieutenant, you too went beyond the call of duty. It should be me on this bed. I haven't had a chance to thank you yet."

"I only did what I had to," Malcolm said quietly.

"He had to keep a promise," Hoshi butted in, and all eyes turned to her. She blushed slightly. "Malcolm promised me he'd bring you all back safely." She frowned. "Although you also promised you wouldn't place yourself at risk unnecessarily."

Malcolm's eyes went wide. "And I didn't," he countered, defensively.

"Honest-ta-God Hosh, darling, he's tellin' the truth," Trip drawled. "I was there, I saw it all."

"Thank you, Trip," Malcolm said in mixed surprise and relief.

"Besides, don't ya know the man? He doesn't _place _himself in unnecessary danger, he _attracts _it."

"There is no scientific evidence to support your statement, Commander," an aristocratic voice said.

They all turned to see T'Pol approaching with Ambassador Soval.

"Although there is _enough _evidence to warrant research," T'Pol continued, eliciting in response various sounds ranging from amused to annoyed. "It is agreeable to see that you are feeling better, Lieutenant," she then said to Reed.

"Indeed," Soval echoed.

"Thank you." Malcolm straightened somewhat painfully to a more upright position and cleared his throat.

Archer mused that they had finally managed to make him completely uncomfortable.

"Ambassador," Archer greeted. "What brings you to Enterprise? I hope it doesn't have to do with the negotiations…" If he was honest with himself he'd never held much hope for their success.

"The negotiations have ended," Soval announced, lifting his eyebrows dramatically.

Archer's shoulders slumped and Trip grimaced. "Well, that's too bad," the Engineer said, voicing the general feeling.

Soval shot a slightly puzzled glance in T'Pol's direction.

"The Ambassador simply said that they have _concluded_," T'Pol clarified to Archer, hands latched behind her back. "Not that they have _failed_."

Archer's green eyes twinkled. "Ah," he said, raising his chin. "Does he actually mean they were _successful_?" he asked, restraining a smile.

Soval hugged his elbows. "As successful as we could have expected. Vulcans will help both Doronites and Felesians establish equally sophisticated monitoring stations. Both species also agreed to share their information with us."

Archer didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "A sort of cold war," he said, thinking aloud.

Soval shot another enquiring glance at T'Pol.

"An impasse," the Vulcan Science Officer explained.

At that moment they heard the doors swish open. Phlox came through them and stopped short, studying the crowd in surprise. "Captain, I'm afraid I am going to have to ask you all to leave. My patient needs to rest," he said in a firm voice.

"Of course, Doctor. Lieutenant, I'll stop by later on," Archer said with a self-conscious smile, beginning to herd Soval, T'Pol and Hoshi out.

"Just when the conversation was getting interesting," Malcolm muttered to Trip, who, being on the other side of his bed, had managed to escape their Captain's gathering arms. "_Successful_," he added under his breath, commenting Soval's words with a soft snort.

"Don't forget, that's _Big Brother_ speakin'," Trip whispered back with a grin.

The leaving party was already at the door, but both Soval and T'Pol turned to shoot them odd looks.

"What is so peculiar with elder brothers on Earth?" Soval asked, frowning and turning to T'Pol.

"I am unable to answer you, Ambassador. I have no experience with human siblings."

It took way too long for the sickbay doors to close. A microsecond later Trip and Malcolm guffawed loudly, Malcolm holding his side.

"I believe your stay in sickbay might be longer than I had anticipated, Lieutenant," Phlox said sternly, passing a tricorder over him.

Malcolm sobered instantly and Trip patted him soothingly on the shoulder. "Need anythin'?" he asked, preparing to leave.

Malcolm put on a thoughtful expression. "How about that drink you promised me on Vegor 2 -- you know, the one from your secret stash?"

"A secret stash?" Phlox looked suddenly interested.

Trip's eyes were crossed by a glint. "Say, Doc. If I showed it ta you, what would you give me in exchange?" He put a meaningful hand on Malcolm's arm, and the Lieutenant looked at Phlox with open anticipation.

Phlox studied the two Officers, a hand on his chin. "I have a surplus of bloodworms, Commander. I could spare a couple. Perhaps even three."

Trip rolled his eyes. "Aw Gawd!" He smirked. "Sorry, Malcolm."

Phlox smiled his excessive smile. "Nice try, Commander," he said, shooing Trip out.

"Don't forget that drink," Malcolm called after him as the doors closed behind his friend.

With everyone gone, sickbay suddenly seemed lonely and too quiet. Malcolm leaned back into the biobed, feeling exhausted. Phlox was right, damn. He was still in need of rest and tired easily. He'd better follow doctor's orders or he'd be in here for longer than he could stand. He closed his eyes and let out a dejected sigh.

"Are you all right, Lieutenant?" Phlox's voice asked from behind his bed. "Any pain?"

Malcolm didn't have the energy to turn to him. Eyes still closed, he gave him his standard reply. "I'm fine, Doctor, thank you."

"I thought I heard you moan."

"It wasn't a moan," Malcolm said in slightly annoyed tones. "It was a sigh."

"Ah. You are tired, then."

The words had a funny ring to them, and had come from much closer, on Malcolm's right. Malcolm took a peek and found blue Denobulan eyes looking at him intently. He stared back.

"I thought you wanted me to rest," he said.

"I thought you wanted a drink," Phlox replied with a genial smile. With that he produced a thin, tall bottle from behind his back. He chuckled. "Commander Tucker is not the only person on this ship to have a secret stash. Ensigns Mayweather and Sato brought this back for me from Vegor 2." He cast Malcolm a conniving look. "One drink will not hurt you, despite your injuries. And since you need no analgesic..."

Malcolm eyed the yellow liquor with suspicion. It looked like… No, it couldn't possibly be…

Phlox twirled the bottle in a manner probably meant to be enticing, but all it did was give Malcolm a good view of its phosphorescent contents, confirming his suspicions. It was that swill from Vegor 2. Taking a fast decision, he wrapped an arm around his midsection. "Ouch. Bloody hell, not now…" He scrunched up his face in a pained expression and choked out, "Sorry, Doctor, but I think I'll need something for the pain after all."

Phlox's mirth faded abruptly, replaced by professional concern. "Let me take care of it, Mr. Reed." He moved away, muttering something about bad timing under his breath.

Just then the sickbay doors opened and Trip reappeared, a wide grin on his face.

"Promises are promises," he chimed, raising a bottle. But he hadn't taken another step that Phlox was there to stop him.

"I'm sorry, Commander, but this will have to wait."

"Oh, Doc!"

Malcolm groaned.

"As you can hear, Lieutenant Reed is in a fair amount of pain. I am about to sedate him so he can rest properly."

_Sedate?... _Malcolm opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything Phlox was at his side and a hypospray had been emptied into his bloodstream. Colours began to blend and the world started to fade away quickly.

Not quickly enough, though, for a bloody Denobulan voice, albeit distorted, was saying, "But since you're here, if you are willing to share your secret stash with me, Commander, I will share mine with you…"

THE END

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